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Fine's Outline Series 



Outlines of 
Three Years English 
Literature f° r Reviews 




OUTLINES OF THREE YEARS 
ENGLISH LITERATURE 

FOR 

REVIEWS 

(ENLARGED EDITION) 

V 

BY 

NATHANIEL M. FINE, A. M. 

II 



1 r%& 



FINE'S OUTLINE SERIES 



1. Outline of Three- Years English Literature for Reviews. . . 50c. 

2. Outline of the Fourth- Year English Literature for Reviews 50c. 

3. Outline of High School Chemistry for Reviews . 50c. 



CONTENTS of the FOURTH-YEAR REVIEW 



1. Shakespeare's "Macbeth." 

3. Milton's "II Penseroso." 

5. Milton's "Lycidas." 

7. Macaulay's "Life of Johnson." 

9. Washington's "Farewell Address. 



2. Milton's "L' Allegro." 

4. Milton's "Comus." 

6. Burke's "Speech on Conciliation." 

8. Carlyle's "Essay on Burns." 

10. Webster's "Bunker Hill Oration." 



11. Outline of the History of English Literature. 



FEATURES of the HIGH 

1. Chemical calculations solved. 

3. Laboratory experiments. 

5. Lists of important equations. 

7. Tests for acid radicals. 

9. College Entrance questions. 
11. Illustrations. 
13. Emphasis on Laws. 



)OL CHEMISTRY REVIEW 

2. Typical problems solved. 

4. Diagrams. 

6. Lists of important substances. 

8. Regents' Examination questions. 

10. Answers to questions. 

12. Important formulae. 

14. Metallurgical processes. 



' The English Outlines contain exactly the knowledge pupils desire. They 
are the best aid for the study of the classics. My pupils take a different aspect 
toward literature since using the Outlines. For preparation for examinations 
and immediate acquisition of the subject nothing is to be compared to them. 
I recommend them to all progressive English teachers." — Greenport High 
School." 

"Your system is the best illumination that has yet appeared of the college 
preparatory requirements in English. My students are very enthusiastic about 
the Outlines, and will, I believe, make a better showing this year than ever, 
on account of the Outlines." — St. John's Prep. College. 

"I have examined the Outline of High School Chemistry for Reviews, 
and like it very much. High School students find it very helpful in preparing 
for examinations. Medical students could use it also in brushing up on their 
General Chemistry." — Dept. of Chemistry, College of the City of New York." 

©CI.A515636 [)£ C _g , 9 |g Copyright, 1918, 

by 

Helen G. Fine 



All Rights Reserved. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



Literature 5 

FIRST YEAR 

GROUP I.— Select two: 

1. The Ancient Mariner — Coleridge 8 

2. The Vision of Sir Launfal— Lowell 11 

3. Marmion — Scott 15 

4. Old English Ballads— Selected 17 

GROUP II.— Either or both: 

5. Ivanhoe — Scott 23 

6. Treasure Island — Stevenson 27 

GROUP III.— Required: 

8. A Midsummer Night's Dream — Shakespeare 35 

9. As You Like It — Shakespeare 39 

GROUP IV.— Either or both: 

v 7. The Odyssey— Homer 32 

SECOND YEAR 

GROUP I.— Required: 

10. The Deserted Village— Goldsmith 44 

11. Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard — Gray 47 

GROUP II.— Select two: 

12. Tales— Poe 49 

13. The Sketch Book— Irving 54 

14. Silas Marner— Eliot 78 

15. Twice Told Tales— Hawthorne 86 

"%^16. A Tale of Two Cities— Dickens 92 

GROUP III.— Select one: 

17. Autobiography— Franklin 103 

18. Walden — Thoreau ^ 107 

GROUP IV.— Required: 

19. The Merchant of Venice — Shakespeare 114 

THIRD YEAR 

GROUP I.— Required: 

20. Poems — Browning 119 

21. Idylls of the King — Tennyson 126 

GROUP II.— Required: 

22. The House of Seven Gables — Hawthorne 134 

GROUP III.— Select one: — 

23. Selections — Lincoln 140 

24. The Sir Roger De Coverley Papers — Addison 146 

GROUP IV.— Select one: 

s/ 25. Henry V.— Shakespeare 157 

26. Julius Caesar— Shakespeare 164 



PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION 



TO appreciative and progressive teachers of High School English, 
this Third Edition of the "Outlines of Three Years English Liter- 
ature for Reviews" owes its publication. 

Hundreds of communications have reached the author with re- 
quests to add particular selections not as yet outlined in either of the 
previous editions. It has been impossible to include all the titles sub- 
mitted, but the most generally and commonly used by schools com- 
plying with the requirements of the College Entrance Board, have 
been chosen. The table of contents sets forth the prescribed and 
optional books in a way that facilitates the planning of a well-organized 
course in High School reading. 

Several years of classroom experience with the Outlines, princi- 
pally with third-year students, have yielded the following actual 
results : 

1. System and Organization in literature-study. 

2. Thoroughness oi acquisition of the subject-matter. 

3. Clearness of impressions. 

4. Power to understand the classics appreciatively. 

5. Self-expression by the stimulation of thought. 

6. Confidence through a full view of the study as a whole. 

7. Necessity of a handy reference book for supplementary and 

Review work. 

8. Success in passing State and College Entrance examinations. 

9. Relief from the clumsy routine of blank-book assignments. 

10. Familiarity with authors, their works, style, and con- 
temporaries. ? 

It cannot be too strongly emphasized that the Outlines are pre- 
eminently Reviews to be used upon the completion of the three-year 
course in reading. As a primary source the Outlines fall short of 
giving any satisfaction. The pupil must read the classic first *in order 
to effectually apply the Review. 

The "Fourth Year Outline of English Literature for Reviews," 
supplement to this Three- Years book, treats the selections of that 
year more intensively and more completely. Both are mutually corre- 
lated so as to present a unified Review of the Four Years of English 
Literature. 



LITERATURE 




ITERATURE may be defined according to Matthew Arnold, the 
! great nineteenth century poet and critic, as "a criticism of life." 



(a) John Morley: Literature, consists of all the books — and they 
are not so many — where moral truth and human passion are touched 
with a certain largeness, sanity, and attraction of form. 

(b) Prof. Gardner: No book or piece of writing deserves the 
approving stamp of this term, "literature/' unless it is thus moulded 
into a living and organic unity, and is thus colored by the character 
and feeling of the man who wrote it. 

(c) Henry Thoreau : Books are the treasured wealth of the world 
and the fit inheritance of generations and nations. 

(d) Prof. Long's definition is probably the best and most compre- 
hensive : Literature is the expression of life in words of Truth and 
Beauty; it is the unwritten record of man's spirit, of his thoughts, 
emotions, aspirations: it is the history, and the only history of the 
human soul. It is characterized by its artistic, its suggestive, its 
permanent qualities. Its two tests are universal interest and its per- 
sonal style. Its object, aside from the delight it gives us, is to know 
man, that is. the soul of man rather than his actions: and since it 
preserves to the race the ideas upon which all our civilization is 
founded, it is one of the most important and delightful subjects that 
can occupy the human mind. 

Each nation has its own literature written in its own particular 
language: but the best test of literature as such is its universalitv 
rather than its provincialism. Thus, the Old Testament has been 
translated from Hebrew to all modern languages: Shakespeare's olavs. 
Bunvan's "Pilgrim's Progress." Stowe's "Uncle Tom's Cabin." Tol- 
stov's "Anna Ksrenina." Boccaccio's "Decameron." Goethe's "Faus- 
tus." Ibsen's "Doll's House." Homer's "Iliad" and "Odvssev," Cer- 
vantes' "Don Ouixote." Balzac's "Father Goriot." etc.. have been trans- 
lated into nearlv all the spoken languages of civilized countries. These 
works and authors have, therefore, a universal audience. On the 
other hand, many other writers have chosen their particular localitv 
pnd their particular peoole as the subject of their writings; their 
audiences are therefore circumscribed, and their works conseciuentlv 
nrovincial : for example: Whittier, Goldsmith^~Gorky, Hardv. the 
Bron+4 sisters, etc. 

The selections we are to study are classics and have all passed 
Prof. Lone's tests as literature ; and their authors are in most cases 
universal figures in their art. 

Literature may be conveniently divided into prose and poetrv: 
Poetrv is literature couched in measured language or in verse ; that is, 
it is literature which consists of words arranged metrically or rhvth- 
mically. Prose is literature in which there is no metrical or rhythmical 
arrangement of words. Poetry usually makes its appeal to our sense 
for beauty in sound through the use of measured language. Words 
arranged metrically are called verse; poetry, therefore, is literature in 
verse, while prose is literature not in verse. Poetrv is one of the fine 
arts which addresses itself to the feelings and the imagination by the 



5 



instrumentality of musical and moving words; the art which has for 
its object the exciting of intellectual pleasure by means of vivid, 
imaginative, passionate, and inspiring language, usually though not 
necessarily arranged in the form of measured verse or numbers. Prose 
is the ordinary written or spoken language of man, language not con- 
formed to poetical measures, as opposed to verse or metrical com- 
position. 

Likewise, the name "poetry" may be justly applied to highly in- 
spirational, passionate, and imaginative prose ; for example : Walt 
Whitman's "Leaves of Grass," DeQuincey's "Dream — Fugue," and 
the Psalms of David. 

There are six divisions of poetry: 
* (1) Epic poetry or narrative poetry, in which the poet's prime 
object is to unfold a series of events which must be of world or racial 
or national importance. 

Greek — Homer's "The Iliad". and "Odyssey." 

German — Niebelungenlied. 

Anglo-Saxon — Beowulf. 

Spanish — The Cid. 

Finnish — Kalevala. 

North American Indian — Hiawatha. 

The following are the artificial or literary epics : — 

Latin— Virgil's "^Eneid." 

Italian — Ariosto's "Orlando Furioso." 

English — Milton's "Paradise Lost" and "Paradise Regained." 
German — Klopstock's "Messias." 

(2) Dramatic Poetry, in which the prime object is to present 
characters in action — usually upon a stage ; for example : Shakespeare's 
plays. 

(3) Lyric Poetry, in which the poet's prime object is to express 
either his personal thoughts and feelings or those of a generation, 
people, or class ; for example, Ben Jonson's "Drink to me only with 
thine eyes," Donne's "Go and catch a falling star," Hood's "Bridge of 
Sighs" and "Song of the Shirt." 

(4) Idyllic Poetry, in which the poet's prime object is the de- 
scription of rural scenes and events in which the dramatic element of 
action is not predominant. 

Goldsmith's "Deserted Village." 
Burns' "Cotter's Saturday Night." 
Tennvson's "Idylls of the King." 

(5) Didactic Poetry, in which the poet's prime object is to incite 
to duty and to convey instruction as well as to yield aesthetic pleasure. 

Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner." 
Pope's "Essay on Criticism." 
Tennyson's "Locksley Hall." 
Longfellow's "Psalm of Life." 

(6) Satiric Poetry ^ in which the poet's prime object is to ridicule 
and chastise his fellow men for their crimes and follies. 

Pope's "Rape of the Lock." 

Byron's "English Bards and Scottish Reviewers." 
Lowell's "Bigelow Papers." 

Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard." 



6 



Dr. Johnson's "London." 

Allegory — a figurative treatment of a subject not expressly men- 
tioned, under the guise of another having analogous properties or 
circumstances. That is, an allegory is a poetical or prose selection in 
which the real meaning or purport is hidden or concealed by shrewd 
analogies or likenesses of a spiritual or abstract nature. 

Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress." 

Spencer's "Fairy Queen." 

Dante's "Divina Commedia." 

There are about eight classes or divisions of prose: 

(1) The Novel — a fictitious prose narrative or tale involving some 
plot of more or less intricacy and aiming to present a picture of real 
life in the historical period and society to which the persons, manners, 
and modes of speech, as well as the scenery and surroundings are 
supposed to belong. 

(a) The Romantic novel describes life as led by strong emo- 
tions into complex and unusual circumstances ; e.g., Blackmore's 
"Lorna Doone." 

(b) The Historical novel involves great personages in his- 
tory in the development of the narrative ; e.g., Scott's "Ivanhoe." 

(c) The Philosophical novel ; e.g., Goldsmith's "Vicar of 
Wakefield." 

(d) The Political novel ; e.g., Dickens' "Tale of Two Cities." 

(e) The Sentimental novel ; e.g., Dickens' "David Copper- 
field." 

(f) The Social novel ; e.g., Mrs. Gaskell's "Cranford." 

(g) The novel of Adventure; e.g., Stevenson's "Treasure 
Island." 

(h) The novel of Character; e.g., Eliot's "Silas Marner." 

(i) The novel of Criticism and Satire; e.g., Swift's "Gulli- 
ver's Travels." 

Travels." 

(j) The novel of Reform; e.g., Dicken's "Oliver Twist." 
(k) The novel of Sporting; e.g., Hughes' "Tom Brown's 
School-days." 

(1) The Nautical novel ; e.g., Cooper's "The Pilot." 

(2) The Short-Story relates incidents of life with as little com- 
plexity as possible. Its chief aim is to entertain by presenting force- 
fully some crucial human experience. 

(3) History: the record of the achievements of humanity in or- 
ganized society. 

(a) Political History. 

(b) Military History, 
fc) Industrial History. 

(d) History of Art and Letters. 

(4) Biography and Autobiography: The first is the record writ- 
ten by a second person or persons of the life of a single man or woman 
who in some way or ways appears to have distinguished himself or 
herself. The second is the record of a man's or a woman's experiences 
in life, told in the first person. 

(a) "The Biography of Abraham Lincoln," by J. G. Nicolay 
and John Hay. 

(b) "The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin." 

(5) Essay: a discursive composition concerned with a particular 



7 



subject. The essay expresses the personal point of view of the author 
and provides excellent scope for individuality of expression. This 
individuality which distinguishes the work of one essayist or author 
from that of another is termed the Style of the work. An essay is 
usually brief, clear, forceful, attractive and instructive. In the essay 
the author attempts to set forth his thoughts and feelings from his 
own point of view. The Formal essay attempts to set forth informa- 
tion in an orderly and forceful manner; e.g., Walter Pater's "Essay on 
Style." The Informal essay attempts to set forth the author's interpre- 
tations of some phase of life, records his meditations, presents his 
whims and fancies, or tells his likes or dislikes; e.g., Irving's "The 
Sketch-Book." 

(6) Oration or Address or Speech: an argumentative or per- 
suasive theme spoken to an audience for the purpose of interesting 
them, arousing their emotions, or inducing them to action; e.g., Pat- 
rick Henry's "Orations;" Lincoln's "Gettysburg Address;" Burk's 
"Speech on Conciliation with America." 

(7) Letters or Correspondence when collected in mass may take a 
very high rank in literature; e.g., Chesterfield's Letters to his Son; 
Lincoln's Letters. 

(8) Diary: an account of a person's daily doings and affairs ; e.g , 
Samuel Pepys' "Diary." 

(9) Sketches, Plays, and Dramas : although dramatic in form are 
written mostly in prose ; e.g., Sheridan's "School for Scandal ;" Shaw's 
"Candida." 



ANCIENT MARINER (1798) 

Author : 

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE— "The Inspired Charity 
Boy." 

Born at Ottery St. Mary, Devonshire, England, October 21, 
1772. Died in London, July 25, 1834. Poet, philosopher, literary 
critic. Schemed to establish a communistic society on the Sus- 
quehanna. Published "Lyrical Ballads" in conjunction with 
Wordsworth, 1798. Opium fiend ; unfortunate private life ; 
dreamer ; conversationalist. 

Criticism : 

Splendor of verbal melody; opaline dream-haze; magnifies 
and distorts common things ; a sense of absolute reality concern- 
ing supernatural terrors; gorgeous; oriental; spiritual; trans- 
cendental philosophy; appreciative criticism; perfect meter and 
harmony : Walter Pater says : " 'Ancient Mariner' is the embodi- 
ment in perfect and immortal poetry of a weird, supernatural, 
sublime dream of retribution." 
Works: 

"Christabel," "Kubla Khan," "Table Talk," "Dejection— an Ode," 



8 



"France — an Ode," Prose Criticism and philosophy. 
The Poem: 

(a) Time : About end of the eighteenth century. 

(b) Place : From Scotland to the Pacific and return. 

(c) Characters : The ancient mariner, the wedding-guest, the 
hermit, the pilot, the pilot's boy, and those who figure in the mariner's 
narrative. 

(d) Background : A Scotch church or kirk^ where a wedding 
ceremony is being conducted. Foreground : An ancient mariner stops 
one of three wedding-guests bound for the kirk. 

(e) Circumstances : A mysterious, weather-beaten sailor, with 
a long, gray beard, skinny hands, and glittering, hypnotic eyes, pur- 
posely stops a particular one of three gallants bound to a wedding 
ceremony. The reluctant "best-man" is spell-bound by the eye of the 
sea-dog, who holds his prey and hastily relates his weird tale. The 
ancient mariner suggests the remote, strange, weird, and uncanny. 

Action : 

Part One : The ship merrily leaves port, sails to the Equator, 
and is driven to the South Pole in the land of ice. An albatross is 
hospitably received by the crew and seems to bring good luck, but 
the ancient mariner wantonly kills the bird (climax). 

Part Two: The fickle crew curse and then favor the mariner's 
act. The ship is suddenly becalmed in the Pacific at the Equator. The 
crew suffer deathly thirst. They believe that an avenging spirit is 
following the ship. The crew hang the dead albatross on the ancient 
mariner's neck (climax). 

Part Three : A spectre-ship appears and is ioyfully hailed. Death 
and Life-in-Death compose the strange crew. They play dice. Death 
wins the crew but Life-in-Death wins the ancient mariner. The two 
hundred men of the crew curse the mariner with their eyes and drop 
dead. 

Part Four: The mariner envies the dead men and would love to 
die, too. The curse in the dead men's eyes tortures him. The mariner 
unwittingly blesses the water-snakes (climax) and the albatross sinks 
like lead into the sea. 

Part Five : The mariner is refreshed by sleep and rain. Strange 
commotion and sounds in the sky stir him up. A blessed troop of 
angelic spirits possess the two-hundred dead bodies, and the spirited 
crew get to work as they were wont to do. The music from the crew, 
the sky-lark, the instruments, and the brook excites the mariner. The 
ship suddenly starts and stops. Two fellow-demons of the avenging 
Polar-Spirit disclose the further penance of the mariner. 

Part Six: The two demons explain the power of the moon over 
the ocean. The curse of the dead crew does not leave the mariner. The 
ship moves jerkily. The mariner suddenly sights land. The angelic 
spirits leave the dead bodies, stand on their respective corpses, and 
appear as a seraph-band of lights. The pilot, his boy, and the hermit 
approach. ! 

Part Seven : The pious hermit comments upon the strangeness 
of the ship. The ship sinks like lead into the sea. The mariner alone is 



9 



saved. The pilot and his boy lose their minds when the mariner be- 
gins to speak and row. The mariner begs the hermit to shrive or 
purify him. The penance of life falls on the mariner and he is forced 
to travel and tell his tale. The mariner urges the wedding guest to 
love all of God's creatures ; for, 

"He prayeth best, who loveth best 

All things both great and small ; 

For the dear God who loveth us, 

He made and loveth all." 
The wedding guest is stupefied and walks away as if stunned. 

Prof. Pancoast on the "Ancient Mariner" 

Coleridge's more subtle art brings us into a twilight and de- 
batable region which seems to hover between the unseen and the 
seen, the conjectural and the real. He invests us with nameless ter- 
rors, as when we fear to turn because of a fiendish something that 
treads behind. We note the skill with which this supernatural ele- 
ment is woven into a narrative of possible incidents, so realistically 
told as fully to persuade us of their truth. We are almost deluded into 
a temporary belief in the whole story. We are haunted by the con- 
tinual suggestion of some underlying moral significance (as in Haw- 
thorne). He has written for us the great poem of charity which 
should bind together all created things. It is against this law of love 
that the mariner sins. He wantonly kills a creature that has trusted 
him ; that has loved him ; that has partaken of the sailors' food and 
that came at their call. His "soul" is condemned to dwell alone, until 
by his compassion for the "happy living things" (water-snakes) about 
the ship — by the renewal of that love against which he has sinned — 
he takes the first step toward his return into the great brotherhood of 
animate creation. For hate, or wanton cruelty, is the estranging 
power which, by an inevitable law, forces a man into spiritual exile, 
just as love is the uniting power which draws together all living 
things. The very power to pray depends upon our dwelling in this 
mystic fellowship of charity, and in this poem praying and loving 
are constantly associated. Not only is love the bond between all 
created things but it is the bond also between the Creator and his 
creatures. It is the mysterious, underlying principle of creation be- 
cause it is the essence of its Creator, and an outcast through his 
violation of love here is no longer able to approach the source of all 
love. For the loneliness of the mariner does not consist in his loss 
of human sympathy merely ; he seems to drift on that strange sea 
of isolation almost beyond the power of the Universal Love : 
"So lonely 'twas that God himself 
Scarce seemed there to be." 

Notes 

Rime is the old form of rhyme. 

The Gloss : The quaint prose commentary on the side of the poem 
was an after-thought, and added by the poet himself. It is a transla- 
tion or transposition of Coleridge's poem for a purely artistic end. 

The Albatross: A sea-bird of the petrel family, inhabiting the 
southern seas and the Pacific Ocean. They are the largest known 



10 



sea-birds and are noted for their powers of flight, sailing for hours, 
and in any direction with reference to the wind, without visible move- 
ment of the wings. From their habit of following ships for days to- 
gether without resting, albatrosses are regarded with feelings of 
attachment and superstitious awe by sailors, it being considered un- 
lucky to kill them. 

Characteristics of the Ballad 

(1) A ballad is a short poem which tells a story in simple verse. 

(2) Stanzaic form of four lines with ballad meter in which the 
first and third lines have four accents and the second and fourth lines 
but three accents. 

(3) The second and fourth lines rhyme. 

(4) Recurrence of lines — repetition. 

(5) Magic numbers : three, seven, nine. 

(6) Brusque and abrupt manner of telling story. 

(7) "Standing Epithets" ; e. g., "her locks were free," "her locks 
were yellow as gold," "by Him that died on tree." 

(8) Alliteration or beginning rhyme ; e. g., "the furrow followed 
free." 

(9) Middle rhyme: e.g., "for all averred, I had killed the bird"; 
"we were the first that ever burst." 

(10) Incremental repetition : One stanza is repeated with but 
few changes in form rather than in meaning. 

(11) Supernatural and preternatural; e.g., Life and Life-in- 
Death on Spectre-Ship ; "They dropped down one by one." 



VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL (1845) 

Poet: 

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 

Born at Cambridge, Mass., February 22, 1819. Died there 
August 12, 1891. Poet, essayist, scholar, diplomatist, lecturer, 
critic, editor of the Atlantic Monthly, Minister to Spain and Eng- 
land ; abolitionist ; a fascinating personality. 
Criticism : 

"He has truthfully and beautifully interpreted the inspired 
teachings of nature." "A laughing prophet with a tongue tipped 
with fire." Satiric humor; patriotic lyrist; passionate love of 
country and democracy. "He might have been a greater poet 
had he been less the reformer and statesman." "So genuine, 
spontaneous and sympathetic are his descriptions that we feel 
' the very heart throbs of nature in his verse." High idealism; 
the moral impulse and the poetic impulse are often in conflict ; 
ethical; originality, virility, many-sidedness; defective ear for 
rhythm* 
Works: 

"The Bigelow Papers," "Commemoration Ode," "Under the Wil- 



li 



lows," "Among My Books," "Democracy/' "Political Es- 
says/' 

Occasion for the Poem : 

The national disgrace of slavery rested heavily on Lowell's 
soul. He burned with the desire to make God's justice prevail 
where man's justice had failed. This passionate yearning for 
reform is embodied poetically in the "Vision of Sir Launfal." It 
is an expression of ideal democracy in which equality, sympathy, 
and sense of the common brotherhood of man are bases of ail 
ethical action and standards. 
Construction of the Poem: 
A story within a story. 

Major story : A single night — the hero is the real Sir Laun- 
fal, unchanged. 

Minor stoEy : The Vision — lifetime of hero — his wanderings. 
Unity in construction is violated by breaking the narrative 

with the Prelude to the second part. 
The Poem: j 

Prelude to Part One: The organist lets his fingers wander list- 
lessly over the keys ; then come forms and figures from out of dream- 
land and over the bridge of his careless melody, and gradually the 
vision takes consistent and expressive shape. So the poet comes upon 
his central subject or theme (lines 1-8), shaped from his wandering 
thought and imagination. God's miracles — Mt. Sinai, sky, winds, 
mountains, woods, and seas — are taking place about us all the time, 
if we can emancipate our souls sufficiently to see them. From out of 
our materialized daily lives we may rise at any moment, if we will, 
to ideal and spiritual things (Lines 9-20). Contrast the grandeur and 
bounty of God's world with the material pettiness and selfishness of 
man in his foolish spending of himself for unworthy objects. "We 
bargain for the graves we lie in." (Lines 21-30.) But June, Nature's 
gift, may be had free and by all comers. For, "What is so rare as a 
day in June?" Then all nature wakes up, breathes, is exhilarating, 
invigorating, happy, robust, bountiful. Now man forgets his 
anxieties and joins in with the exotic rhapsody of spring's inspiring 
song. We are all young again and dance in the warm sunshine ot 
youth and nature's unselfish gifts. It is at this season and in the 
heyday of his youth that Sir Launfal feels that he has to get to work, 
keep his promise and depart on his ambitious travels after fortune 
(lines 31-95). 

PART ONE: Sir Launfal prepares for his next day's departure to 
seek the Holy Grail, the symbol of happiness, success, etc. His deter- 
mination encourages him to suffer hardships and he falls asleep on 
the rushes strewn over the castle floor. Here he dreams the "Vision" 
(lines 96-108). Nature seems to be surcharged with a drowsy quiet- 
ness about Sir Launfal's castle. This cold, proud and churlish castle 
in the North Countree stands in strong contrast to the surrounding 
landscape filled with the joyous sunshine of Summer. So the proud 
knight's heart is still inaccessible to true charity and warm human 
sympathy. So aristocracy in its power and pride stands aloof from 
democracy with its humility and aspiration for human brotherhood. 
(Lines 108-127.) Sir Launfal, dressed in his flaming suit of mail, 



12 



seated on his prancing charger, flashes forth on the first stage of his 
journey. Excepting for the gloomy castle (symbolizing Sir Laun- 
fal's proud spirit and cold heart) everything is bright and encour- 
aging. (Lines 128-146.) Sir Launfal is chilled by the loathsome sight 
of a leper begging with out-stretched hand for alms. This sight grates 
on his dainty nature and lofty sensibility. In scorn and disgust he 
throws this moaning creature a piece of gold, hoping to wipe out this 
blot from the otherwise clear horizon. (This is the turning-point or 
climax of the moral movement of the story.) Sir Launfal, at the 
very beginning, makes this fatal mistake; his noble spirit and lofty 
purposes break down with the first test. He refuses to see a brother 
in the loathsome leper; the light and warmth of human brotherhood 
had not yet entered his soul just as the summer sunshine had not 
entered the frowning castle. The regeneration of his soul must be 
worked out through wandering and suffering. (Lines 147-157). 
(Compare with the plot of the "Ancient Mariner"). The leper does 
not raise the coin from the ground, for, "He gives only the worth- 
less gold who gives from a sense of duty." The all-pervading spirit 
of God unites all things in one sympathetic whole; and where that 
divinity in humanity is missing, the God-like quality of real charity, of 
heart-to-heart sympathy is likewise missing and leaves the "soul that 
was starving in darkness." (Lines 158-173.) 

Prelude to Part Second: It is winter now and the chill wind 
and icy sleet whirled themselves on the wanderer's (Sir Launfal's) 
cheek. The little brook has artfully built itself an arched roof from 
the silvery mosses and nodding bulrush-tops, and thus, in its "fairy 
masonry" goes on forever. The cavern of the brook as the poet will 
have us imagine it is like a subterranean crypt, where the pillars are 
like interlacing branches, decorated with frost-leaves. The poet seems 
to have in mind throughout the description of the interior of the 
Gothic Cathedrals, as shown by the many suggestive terms used, 
"groined," "crypt," "aisles," "fretwork," and "carvings." (Lines 174- 
210.) Within the hall or large banqueting-room of the Castle, every- 
thing is happy and merry with Christmas cheer. Ivy and holly deco- 
rate the walls. The Yule-log, crackling, sparkling, and roaring in 
the yawning fireplace, chases away the customary gloom. Without 
the Castle's gates, Sir Launfal, now old and gray and shelterless, dis- 
appointed in his search for the Holy Grail, returns to his Castle to 
find himself dispossessed. The seneschal shouts the wanderer away, 
and Sir Launfal hopelessly turns away from the comforts that were 
once his. (Lines 210-239.) 

PART TWO : On this bleak Christmas day, with but a single crow 
as his only companion, the suffering, poor, bent and worn-out Sir 
Launfal totters away from his "hard" gate — frail and shelterless. (It 
must not be forgotten that this old Sir Launfal is only in the dream 
of the real young Sir Launfal, who is still lying on the rushes within 
his own castle. As the poor had often been turned away with cold, 
heartless selfishness, so is he now turned away from his own gate. 
But he now wears the "badge of the suffering and the poor." This is 
the sign of the Cross, the symbol of humility and love. This is the 
first intimation, the key-note, of the transformation that has taken 
place in Sir Launfal's soul.) The "barbed" winds of the December 



18 



frosts pierce his now "idle mail/' In his many years of wandering 
in Oriental lands and in the "light and warmth of long ago," Sir 
Launfal seeks shelter. He muses and dreams of the blighted past, of 
his journeys over the vast deserts, of the joy of the caravan on reach- 
ing an oasis — when he is suddenly and abruptly interrupted by the 
"grewsome" leper, "lank as the rain-blanched bone." The vision of 
the "happy camels" in the "summer clime" is quickly swept away, 
and Sir Launfal is taken off his feet by the shock of this surprise. 
(Lines 240-279.) Sir Launfal now warmly welcomes the leper. Christ- 
like, he sympathizes with his "desolate" fellow man. Suffering him- 
self, he now feels for the suffering, and gives the leper of what he 
still has. Sir Launfal reminds himself how he had mistreated the 
leper on his proud departure for the Holy Grail, and repents his 
selfishness. He now gives the leper half of his crust and some water 
from the streamlet; but the water is miraculously turned into red 
wine and the moldy crust into fine wheaten bread. The leper is trans- 
figured, and Christ, Himself, appears in the vision of the sleeping Sir 
Launfal. Downcast and repentant, Sir Launfal enters "the temple 
of God in Man." The leper, in the glorious transfigurement of Christ, 
softly informs Sir Launfal that the Holy Grail could nowhere be 
found except in the place where the seeker is charitable and sacri- 
ficing; that the long-sough t-for Grail was the very cup which he had 
just offered the leper; that success is achieved when the Christ-like 
spirit triumphs in the man ; that not "what we give but what we 
share" counts; for, "the gift without the giver is bare." (Lines 280- 
327.) Sir Launfal awakes from his vision, discards his armor, and 
delegates it to the cobwebs ; for he realizes that the Holy Grail is in 
his own Castle, and that the spirit of brotherhood is by far more 
protective than the "idle mail." He changes his ways, becomes demo- 
cratic, opens his castle doors to everyone, rich and poor, and the long 
siege of Summer is at last over. (Lines 328-347.) 

Discussion 

The poem is constructed on the principles of contrast and paral- 
lelism. The First Prelude, describing the beauty and inspiring joy 
of Spring, typifying the buoyant youth and aspiring soul of Sir Laun- 
fal, corresponds to the Second Prelude, describing the bleakness and 
desolation of Winter, typifying the old age and desolated life of the 
hero. But beneath the surface of this wintry age, there is a new soul 
of summer beauty, the warm love of suffering humanity, just as be- 
neath the surface of the frozen brook there is an ice-palace of summer 
beauty. In Part First, the gloomy castle with its joyless interior, 
stands as the only cold and forbidding thing in the landscape "like 
an outpost of winter ;" so in Part Second the same castle with Christ- 
mas joys within is the only bright and gladsome object in the land- 
scape. In Part First the castle gates never "might opened be;" in 
Part Second the "castle gates stand open now." The cost of earthly 
things in comparison with the generosity of June corresponds to the 
churlish castle opposed to the inviting warmth of Summer; each sym- 
bolizes the proud, selfish, misguided heart of Sir Launfal in youth in 
comparison with the humility and large Christian charity in old age. 



14 



Notes 

It was Lowell's habit to brood over the subject he wished to treat 
in verse, to fill himself with it, to work himself up to a white heat 
over it, and finally to write it out at a single sitting if possible. This is 
frankly illustrated in his Prelude to Part One of the "Vision." 

The poem is an allegory, and what we read is only a delicate 
dress which is thrown over the transparent deeper significance and 
purportful meaning of the poet. Nearly every line is packed with 
symbolism. This symbolic meaning must be continually explained 
in the light of the main theme, "the humility of true charity." 

The Holy Grail : According to mediaeval legend, the Sangreal 
was the cup of chalice, made of emerald, which was used by Christ 
at the Last Supper, and in which Joseph of Arimathea caught the last 
drops of Christ's blood when He was taken down from the Cross. The 
quest of the Grail is the central theme of the Arthurian Romances. 
Compare the "Vision of Sir Launfal" with : 

Tennyson's "Sir Galahad and The Holy Grail." 
Wagner's "Parsifal" (the libretto). 
Sir Thos. Malory's "Morte D'Arthur." 
Longfellow's "King Robert of Sicily." 



MARMION (1808) 

Poet: 

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

(For life and works see introduction to "Ivanhoe.") 
Criticism : 

"Of all the battles which have been fought in poetry there is none 
at all comparable for interest and animation, for breadth of 
drawing and magnificance of effect, with this of Scott's." 
Rapid, sustained, and lofty movement of the verse : character 
delineation is masterly. 
Subject Matter: 

The description of the Battle of Flodden, 1513, in which the Scot- 
tish King James IV. and about ten thousand of his men were 
slain by the English under the Earl of Surrey. A metrical 
romance based to a great extent upon legendary exploits of 
the Scottish Borderer. 
Summary of the Story: 

"Lord Marmion, the fictitious hero of the poem' was an English 
Knight of great rank, fortune, and prowess in the reign of Henry VIII, 
and had some years before the opening of the narrative carried off 
from her convent Constance de Beverley, a professed nun of good 
family, whom he had afterwards retained about his person in the dis- 
guise of a page. 

"At the end of three years, however, he falls in love with the fair 



16 



face or the broad lands of Clara de Clare, whose affections were prev- 
iously engaged to Ralph de Wilton. To dispose of this rival Marmion 
employs Constance to put a parcel of forged letters importing treason- 
able practices among De Wilton's papers, and thereafter to arraign 
him of those offenses before their jealous sovereign. 

"The forged papers give credit to this accusation' and the matter 
is referred to the judgment of God by a single combat between the 
two parties. On this contest the treacherous Marmion is victorious; 
and the true De Wilton, who is supposed to die of his wounds, as- 
sumes the dress of a palmer, and wanders from shrine to shrine brood- 
ing over his unmerited disgrace. Constance, meanwhile, consumed 
with jealousy, engages -a wicked monk in a plot to murder the Lady 
Clare ; but before she can carry it into execution, she is returned to 
the convent by Marmion, who has wearied of her. Marmion, to his 
credit be it said, is ignorant of her crime of projected murder' but it 
is speedily detected by the superior of the convent. 

"Clara, in the meantime, full of sorrow for De Wilton and of 
hatred for Marmion, has retired to the convent of Whitby with the 
intention of taking the veil, and Lord Marmion, bearing down re- 
morse with pride and ambition, was proceeding on an embassy from 
King Henry to the court of James IV of Scotland, to inquire into the 
cause of the great levy of troops which that prince was making, and 
the destination of the vast army which he had assembled in the neigh- 
borhood of his capital." 
Important Events: 

Canto I : 

Lord Marmion and his train arrive at Norham. 
Canto II : 

The trial of Constance and the monk. 
Canto III : 

Marmion's midnight combat (with De Wilton). 
Canto IV: 

Marmion meets the Lion King at Arms of Scotland. 
Canto V : 

Marmion's embassy at the court of James IV. 
Canto VI : 

Marmion's valor in the battle. His confession and death. . . 

Notes: 

Knighthood: "The education necessary for the order of 
knighthood began at a very early age and was carried on in the 
castles of the princes and nobles. The ceremony of conferring 
knighthood was a most impressive and interesting one. The 
candidate confessed his sins on the eve of consecration, and 
passed the night in prayer and fasting in the church. Next morn- 
ing he heard mass, offered his sword on the altar, where it was 
blessed by the priest; and was created a knight, either by the 
priest of the highest rank present, or by some knight, who. in 
virtue of his knighthood, was qualified to confer the sacred office 
he had himself received. The lad was made a knight in the name 
of God, of St. George, and of St. Michael, the archangle. He 
swore to fulfill the duties of his profession ; to speak the truth : 
to maintain the right; to protect women, the poor, and the dis-» 



16 



tressed ; to practice courtesy ; to dispise the allurements of ease 
and safety, and to maintain his honor in every perilous adventure. 
After th-is religious ceremony the young knight had to "win his 
spurs," that is, to perform his part manfully in some battle or ad- 
venture." — Strachey. 

Scottish Landscape : Loch, scaur, moor, heath, law, whin, 
frith, gorse, bush, lee, dell, wold, broom, moss, shaw, down, glade, 
glen, dale, fen, furze, brake. 

Suit and Armor: Helm, shield, spurs, halbert, bill, battleaxe, 
sword, bow, lance, musket, pike, morion, morrice-pikes, brand, 
falchion, buckler, dagger. 

The Mediaeval Castle : The Mediaeval castle was the centre of 
feudal life, for here dwelt the lord, to whom his vassals owed mili- 
tary service. The whole site of the building was surrounded by a 
ditch called the moat, which could easily be filled with water or 
left dry. Before the principal entrance was placed an outwork 
called the barbican, which was a high wall surmounted by battle- 
ments and turrets, to defend the gate and the drawbridge. The 
drawbridge across the moat was constructed of wood, and, by 
means of chains and weights, could be pulled up against the en- 
trance thus cutting off all communication with the outside. On the 
inside of the moat stood the outer wall about eight or ten feet thick, 
and from twenty to thirty feet high, surmounted by a parapet 
with embattelments through which the defenders discharged ar- 
rows, darts, and stones at the besiegers. On this wall were built, 
at stated intervals, towers, from each of which projected a barti- 
zan, an over-hanging turret pierced with loopholes. In one of the 
towers was a postern gate at a considerable distance from the 
ground and used for the egress of messengers during a siege. 
The principal gate of the castle was of great strength, made of 
wood, cased with iron, and rendered doubly secure by an iron port- 
cullis which slid downward in grooves in the masonry. This 
great gate contained a smaller gate or door called a wicket The 
outer court contained a chapel, stables, the soldiers' apartments, 
guard-rooms, and other buildings ; then came the inner court, cov- 
ered buildings for defending the walls, apartments for the family 
and the great hall where all the feastings and revelry were carried 
on by the baron and his retainers. The floors of the hall were 
strewn with rushes, and the furniture was of the simplest and 
rudest description. Within all these buildings was the keep — a 
tower more strongly fortified than the rest, and used as the last 
resort of the garrison when the outworks were taken." 



OLD ENGLISH BALLADS— 15th and 16th Centuries 

Definition: A ballad is a narrative poem, anonymous and of uncertain 
origin, that has been handed down among the people by word of 
mouth. A ballad may be lyric or epic, depending on the relative 



17 



importance of the story and the feeling. - A ballad is also called 
a folk song. 
Characteristics : 

1. Without the personal note of individual authorship. It "tells 

itself." 

2. The possession of the folk as a whole. 

3. Possession of rhyme and stanzaic form. 

4. Originally intended for singing to a recurrent melody. 

5. Simplicity : thoughts are rugged, emotion is elemental, diction 

is that of every-day life. Inversion and figures of speech 
are rare. Straightforward. The metre is invariably iambic. 
Rhymes are the obvious ones. 

6. Refrain, repetition, and dialogue. 

7. Ballad metre : A quatrain the first and third lines of which 

have four accents each, while the second and fourth have 
three each. The second and fourth lines normally carry 
rhyme. 

8. Entirely concrete and objective. No moralizing. 

9. Talking birds and animals. 

10. No attempt to create an "atmosphere." Wonders are common- 

place. 

11. Frequent recurrence of certain numbers, particularly three and 

seven. 

12. Profuse and irrational use of gold, silver, and gems. 

13. Historical facts are used with the greatest freedom. 

14. Ballad style: Brusque and abrupt manner of telling the story. 

Description and "character drawing" entirely absent. 
Terseness, fiery fervor, tenderness of pathos. Standing 
epithets, alliteration, incremental repetition. 
Origin of Ballads : Theories : 

1. Individualistic : Ballads were originally the works of individ- 

uals, and became popular through centuries of transmis- 
sion by word of mouth. 

2. Communal : Since ballads have a universal sameness of tone, 

of incident, of legend, and of primitive political formulae, 
they were made not only "of the people and for the people," 
but also "by the people." 
Collections : 

1. Bishop Thomas Percy (1728-1811) : Reliques of Ancient Eng- 

lish Poetry. 

2. Sir Walter Scott (1771-1882) : Ministrelsy of the Scottish 
Border. 

3. Francis James Child (1825-1896) : English and Scottish Bal- 

lads. 

Ballads : 

1. Lord Randal: 

While on a hunting-trip, Lord Randall dines with his 
false lady-love who poisons his food. He returns to his mother, 
and begs for his bed to die in. 

2. Sir Patrick Spence: 

The King sends a sealed letter to Patrick Spence, his best 
sailor, in which the latter is ordered to captain His Majesty's 



13 



ship. At first Spence is jubilant, but his smiles are soon dis- 
placed by tears, for he quickly apprehends the danger of sail- 
ing at this particularly stormy season. But he faithfully 
prepares to discharge his duty. The sleek nobles board the 
ship, and the vessel departs for its destination. The unheeded 
premonitions prove fatal, and all, including the ship, are lost. 
Usless is the waiting of the ladies, for in fifty fathoms of 
water lie the Scottish lords and their obedient captain, Sir 
Patrick Spence. 

3. Captain Car or Edom O'Gordon: 

Captain Car, under command of Adam Gordon, marches 
his men to the castle of the Hamiltons, in hopes of surprising 
and gaining the noble Lady. Car demands the surrender of 
the castle and threatens to violate the good woman's name. 
The latter refuses and attacks the villainous Car with her 
pistol, but in vain. She requests that her eldest son's life be 
spared. But the young man is murdered in defiance of Car's 
promises of safety. Lady Hamilton remains firm in her re- 
fusal to turn over the castle, notwithstanding her youngest 
son's entreaties. The castle is set on fire, and the brave mother 
and her family succumb to the flames. Lord Hamilton, sta- 
tioned in another town, dreams of his family's misfortune, and 
arrives the next day to see his dream come true. He upbraids 
the scoundrel Car's villainy, and vows himself less worthy, of 
life than his valiant wife and family. 

4. The Twa Corbies: 

Two crows are overheard making their plans for dinner. 
One tells of a dead knight lying behind a ditch, whose dog, 
hawk, and lady have deserted him. The crows apportion the 
various parts of the knight's carcass between themselves, and 
plan to use the soldier's hair for the softening of their nests. 
There were many, they knew, who mourned the loss of the 
knight, but no one would ever find him. Only the wild wind 
would eternally blow over his wasting bones. 

5. The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington : 

A Squire's son falls in love with a bailiff's daughter, one 
beneath his station in life. His friends, disinclined to the 
match, send him as apprentice to London. But he remains 
steadfast in his love for the damsel of Islington. The latter 
secretly steals away from her home, and disguised as a beggar, 
goes in search of her sweetheart. They meet on the road, 
but even when she begs him for alms, he fails to recognize 
her. When told that his beloved one was dead, he deems his 
possessions useless, and offers them all to the stranger. After 
manifesting his steadfast love, his sadness is dispelled by the 
confession and revelation of the faithful lady. 

6. Hind Horn: 

Hind Horn tells of his wooing the daughter of the King. 
She presents him with a sceptre and a gold ring. Should the 
latter ever turns pale, it would be a sign that her love had been 
given to another man. Horn sails away to a far country. His 
ring suddenly turns pale. Immediately he returns to the 



19 



court, changes clothes with a beggar, and comes in time to See 
his lady about to be married. The princess presents him with 
a cup of wine into which he drops her ring. The damsel be- 
comes astonished, and on learning of the beggar's identity, 
she turns her back to her bridegroom, and flees with Hind 
Horn. 

7. Young Aiken: 

Lady Margaret goes into Elmond's wood and is met by a 
forester. The latter runs off with the princess and builds a 
solid and yet invisible castle in which they live for seven years. 
Seven children are born to the pair. While on a hunting-trip, 
Aiken explains to his eldest son the reason for his mother's 
sadness. On another occasion, Aiken goes hunting alone, and 
during his absence, his wife and children stray to the King's 
palace. By means of royal rings, Young Aiken gains admis- 
sion to his grandfather's presence, and wins the ruler's for- 
giveness for his mother and her children. Margaret is wel- 
comed by her parents, brothers, and sisters, but refuses food 
until the King pledges his pardon for her lord. This is granted, 
and the elder Aiken is also welcomed to the court, where he 
embraces his family. They retire to church where they pray 
for God's forgiveness. They "live happily ever after." 

8. The Gay Goshawk: 

Lord William sends his parrot with a letter to his lady- 
love, who has failed to answer his former missives. On the 
designated tree, the Goshawk sings plaintfully until the 
maiden hears it. She is then given the letter from her lov«er. 
She assures the bird that Lord William will not be disap- 
pointed at St. Mary's Church. She takes a drug, falls into a 
death-like sleep, and is taken to be dead. Her parents and 
brothers carry out the burial rites, and the body is taken to 
St. Mary's. There Lord William revives his faithful bride, and 
dismisses the chagrined brothers. 

9. Lord Thomas and Fair Annet: 

Lord Thomas wishes to get his friends' advice as to whom 
to marry between Fair Annet and the wealthy nut-brown 
maid. He receives conflicting opinions, but decides in favor of 
the heiress. On the wedding-day, Annet, regally furnished, ap- 
pears at the church. On beholding her, Lord Thomas regrets 
his choice' and now favors his former love. In jealousy, the 
nut-brown maid slays the fair Annet, for which act, she, in 
turn is slain by Lord Thomas. Heartbroken, Lord Thomas 
drives his dagger~into his own breast, and falls near his Fair 
Annet. 

10. The Dowie Dens of Yarrow : 

On the banks of the Yarrow, a brave knight meets nine op- 
ponents. He slays them all but is himself mortally wounded 
by the cowardly brother of his lady-love. The faithful Sarah 
dreams of her lover's downfall, and the next day finds her 
dream true. She mourns her loss, and spurns her brother's 
offer of a "better lord." 



20 



11. The Douglas Tragedy: 

Lord William elopes with Lady Margaret. Lord Doug- 
las, her father, and her seven brothers give chase. But Will- 
iam overthrows the seven brothers and is about to kill Doug- 
las, when Margaret intervenes. Incidentally, Lord William 
receives a mortal wound, and with his bride, makes his way 
to his mother's home, where he dies. Margaret, overcome by 
grief shortly follows her lover, and both are buried side by 
side. 

12. Fair Helen: 

The lover bemoans the loss of his brave bride who died 
in the attempt to save him. He curses the hand of the rival 
who fired the mortal shot, and begs to be laid by her side. 

13. Edward: 

Edward finally confesses that he has slain his own father. 
As penance for this deed he tells his mother of his intention of 
leaving his family and departing to a strange land. Let his 
castle fall and his family beg, but go he must. As for his 
mother, she is to receive the curses of hell, in payment for her 
insidious advice and counsel. 

14. Thomas the Rhymer: 

True Thomas meets the Queen of Elfland and kisses her 
on the lips. For this he is forced to fly through the air, ride 
through blood, and wade in the mire until he reaches the roads 
of righteousness and wickedness. The Queen presents him 
with an apple of truthfulness, which Thomas is compelled to 
accept. For seven years he sojourns in Elfland. 

15. Kemp Owyne: 

Isabel is thrown into the sea by her cruel step-mother. 
She turned into a sea-nymph and becomes the wonder of all 
the folk. Kemp Owyne comes to behold the mermaid with the 
long hair and scaly body, and wins her over with kisses. Isa- 
bel presents him with a royal belt, ring, and sword, which, 
when on his person, will make him immune from the loss of 
blood. But he must not in any event touch either her tail 
or fin. Isabel smilingly returns to her former self and is re- 
deemed by Kemp Owyne. 

16. Adam Bell: 

Bell, Clym, and Cloudeslie are three outlaws in English 
Wood. Cloudeslie pays his wife and family a visit at Carlisle, 
notwithstanding his comrades' warning to the contrary. An 
old woman staying at the home of Cloudeslie spies on the latter 
and informs the justice and sheriff of the town of the outlaw's 
presence. William and his faithful wife, Alice, at first defy the 
authorities and their yeomen ; but when the house is set on fire, 
the outlaw lets his family down through the window to a 
place of safety. He himself finally makes a dash through 
the thick of his adversaries, doing great damage with his 
sword. But he is finally captured, thrown into a dungeon, 
and is condemned to die on the gallows the very next day. A 
little boy, once befriended by Cloudeslie, informs Bell and 
Clym of their comrade's predicament, upon which they march 
to his succor. The two outlaws call themselves the King's 

21 



messengers and finally manage to enter the city. The porter 
is done away with, and his keys are taken from him. As 
Cloudeslie is about to be strung up, Bell and Clym take good 
aim and drive their arrows into the hearts of the justice and 
the sheriff. The onlookers run off in fear, and William is set 
free. The three are again fiercely attacked, but again they come 
away victors. In this attack the mayor of the town falls a 
victim. With the keys in their possession, the three outlaws, 
now joined by Alice and her children, make good their escape 
to their haunts in the woods. Later, the three go to the King 
of the land and offer their service to him. But the King is 
highly wroth by the bloody deeds of the outlaws and orders 
their execution. The Queen intervenes and offers to be the 
surety for their future conduct. When the report of their 
doings at Carlisle reaches the King, he at first regrets his 
promise to the Queen, but finally orders the three yeomen to 
show their prowess with the bow. Cloudeslie is most expert 
in the contest, for his arrow splits an apple on his son's head. 
From that day the three former outlaws become the friendly 
companions of the King. 

17. Robin Hood and Little John: 

"Robin Hood is represented as a yeoman, the champion 
of the common people against their oppressors. Loyal to the 
King and at heart truly religious, he was the sworn foe of the 
wealthy aristocracy, the regular clergy, and the officers of the 
government, particularly those charged with carrying out the 
forest laws. He was open-handed, brave, merciful, given to 
archery and venery, good-humored, jocular, loyal, woman- 
protecting, priestcraft-hating, Mary-loving, God-fearing, some- 
what rough withal, caring little for the refinements of life, 
and fond of a fight above all things." 

When only twenty, Robin Hood meets the giant, Little 
John, on a very narrow bridge. A quarrel arises, and they 
settle it with lusty staves. Robin Hood is severely struck, 
and falls into the brook. He blows his horn and his men im- 
mediately come to his call. Little John is pardoned of his 
deed by the leader, and joins the band of Greenwoodsmen. He 
is then playfully baptized and christened from John Little to 
Little John. 

18. Guy of Gisborne: 

Guy and Robin, enemies, meet one day in the forest, and 
try their skill with their bows. Robin proves the better and re- 
veals his identity to his opponent. At this match Little John 
expresses his doubts of Robin's skill to overcome Guy, where- 
at Robin Hood takes offense of the slight, and the two friends 
part for a time. The sheriff of Barnesdale captures Little 
John, his long-standing enemy, and binds him to a tree. Mean- 
while a bloody combat takes place between Guy and Robin, 
in which the latter slays his opponent, and disguises himself 
in Guy's clothes. The sheriff believes that Guy must surely 
have slain Robin Hood, and welcomes the supposed-to-be Guy 
of Gisborne. But what is his astonishment when he learns 

22 

/ 



that it is Robin Hood. The latter frees Little John, who, at 
the last moment, drives an arrow into the sheriff's heart. 

19. Robin Hood's Death and Burial: 

Robin Hood arrives at Kirkley-hall, the home of his 
cousin, where he receives affectionate attention before he dies. 
Weak from his bleeding, Robin blows three blasts, whereupon 
Little John answers his master's call. Robin Hood refuses to 
put fire to Kirkley-Hall and "all their nunnery," for he has 
never done harm to "any fair maid." Instead, he directs Little 
John to bury him in the ground where his last arrow strikes. 
This Little John does, following all the details given. 

20. Kinmont Willie : 

Lord Scroope captures the Scottish Kinmont Willie and 
throws him into Carlisle. Castle. The clan of Buccleuch sets 
out to free their kinsman. The false Sakelda, friend to Lord 
Scroope, attempts to turn the Scots back, but is slain for his 
pains. They then force their way into Carlisle Castle, and 
overpower Lord Scroope. With Kinmont Willie freed, the 
Scots cross the angry Eden rapids, defying Lord Scroope and 
his English yeomen. 

21. Chevy Chase: 

The Percys cross the border and defiantly slay hundreds 
of deer in the territory of the Scottish Douglas. The Scots and 
their leader appear and exchange. hot words. Douglas chal- 
lenges Percy to single combat, but their respective armies 
interfere and make it a general onslaught. Hundreds of men 
fell that day at Cheviot. Douglas is suddenly struck by an 
arrow, and Percy comes to his aid. But at that moment, 
Percy too is struck to the grief of all the Englishmen. The 
fight lasts all night until the earth is strewn with the flower 
of both countries. The Kings of Scotland and England mourn 
over their losses. Thus was the hunting at Cheviot ended. 

22. The Battle of Otterburn: 

Douglas rides his men into English land and meets with 
the power of Percy. They promise each other to meet at Ot- 
terburn, near Newcastle, to settle their dispute. Instead of 
three days later, Percy arrives, to the surprise of Douglas, on 
the very next day. Douglas is wounded by Percy, and is 
placed behind a nearby bush. But the brave Montgomery 
overcomes Percy, and forces the latter to yield to him. Doug- 
las is buried at Otterburn, and Lord Percy is led away as 
captive. 



IVANHOE (1820) 

Author : 

SIR WALTER SCOTT— "The Wizard of the North." 

Born at Edinburgh, Scotland, August 15, 1771. Died at 
Abbotsford, September 21, 1822. Novelist and poet; creator of 

83 



the Historical Novel. 



Criticism : 

Comprehensive power; profound sympathy with the simpler 
feelings of the human heart ; romantic ; imaginative ; love for 
characters and scenes; made the past alive, a reality; vigor, 
freshness, rapidity, breeziness, out-of-door atmosphere in his 
poetry; his canvas is vast. 

Works: 

Fiction : Twenty-nine "Waverly Novels." 

Poetry: "Lay of the Last Minstrel/' "Marmion," "Lady of the 
Lake," "The Vision of Don Roderick." 

Reference : 

Lockhart's "Life of Scott." 



The Story: 

(a) Time : About 1194 ; the suppression of the rebellion of Prince 
John by his brother, King Richard I ("The Lion-Hearted") upon the 
latter's return to England from the Third Crusade ta Palestine. 

Historical Facts : The French-Northerns under William the Con- 
queror defeated the Saxon Harold at the Battle of Hastings, October 
14, 1066. Thereafter, there was growing antagonism between the sub- 
dued Saxons and the domineering Normans. The former never ceased 
to strive for their emancipation from their Norman enemies and rulers. 
The Normans brought with them from Europe the culture and ideals 
of Roman civilization ; they practically forced upon England a national 
ideal of a strong, centralized government which soon displaced the 
loose authority of the Saxon chief ; and they brought over the wealth 
of a new language (Norman-French) and a new literature which was 
bright, varied, amusing, romantic, lively, and sparkling. All this was 
antagonistic to the stern, melancholy, sombre, and profoundly re- 
ligious Saxons. The cruelty of the aggressors overshadowed all the 
benefits which the newcomers contributed by their coming. 

(b) Place : The Six large scenes : Central England. 

(1) Rotherwood — Home of Cedric the Saxon. 

(2) Ashby — The Tournaments. 

(3) Between Ashbv and Rotherwood — Homeward. 

(4) The Castle of Torquilstone. 

(5) Under the Trysting Tree. 

(6) Preceptory of Templestowe. 

(c) Action: 

(1) At Rotherwood — Cedric's Home 
Gurth, Cedric's swineherd derides Norman greediness to the 
quick-witted Wamba, Cedric's jester. Prior Aymer and Sir Brian, 
the Templar, are misdirected to Cedric's home by Wamba. The caval- 
cade is safely directed to Rotherwood by the Palmer who lay asleep at 
the Sunken Cross. Cedric's impatience for news of Gurth and Wamba, 
coupled with Lady Rowena's tarrying, is somewhat heightened by the 
announcement of the arrival of the Norman cavalcade. Cedric is 
offended by Sir Brian's glances at Rowena. Isaac, Jew of York, is 



24 



admitted and is offered comfort by the Palmer. The Templar and 
the Palmer disagree in their choice of heroes at Palestine. The Palmer 
accepts Sir Brian's challenge to meet Ivanhoe in England and offers 
his reliquary as security. Isaac is threatened by the Templar. Row- 
ena interviews the Palmer and inquires of her lover, Ivanhoe. The 
Palmer awakes and assists Isaac to escape from threatened death. 

(2) At Ashby — Passage of Arms 

Isaac finds difficulty in procuring a seat but his beautiful daughter, 
Rebecca, gains for him consideration. Cedric and his party arrive. 
In the first day's tournament the "Disinherited Knight" defeats the 
Templar and his party, and, as victor, names Lady Rowena "The 
Queen of Love and Beauty." The "Disinherited Knight" sends Gurth 
to pay Isaac eighty zecchins ($18,560). Gurth is held up by robbers, 
displays his bravery with the quarter-staff, defeats the Miller, and is 
elected a member of the gang. In the second day's tournament the 
"Black Sluggard" helps the "Disinherited Knight" out of his difficulty, 
disappears, and leaves the victory to the "Disinherited Knight" for the 
second time. Upon receiving the Chaplet of Honor from Rowena, 
"The Queen of Love and Beauty," Ivanhoe's identity is revealed to 
the surprise of his family. Prince John is told of Richard's arrival in 
England. Locksley (Robin Hood) defeats Hubert in the archery 
contest. 

(3) Between Ashby and Rotherwood 

Cedric and the Saxon race are run down by Prince John and his 
Normans at the Castle of Ashby. DeBracy plans to kidnap Rowena. 
Fitzurse reviews his motives for supporting Prince John. The Black 
Knight and the Hermit make merry through the night. Wamba as- 
sists the captured Gurth to escape from Cedric's party. Rowena con- 
sents to permit Rebecca, Isaac, and the sick man (Ivanhoe) to join 
Cedric's party. The party is captured by DeBracy and his band 
dressed as Saxon outlaws. Gurth and Wamba, who escape, meet 
Locksley and procure his assistance. Locksley and his band are joined 
by the "Black Sluggard" and the fighting Hermit. 

(4) In the Castle of Torquilstone 

Cedric and Athelstane bewail their captured plight and defy 
Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, the lord of the castle. Front-de-Boeuf in 
another apartment terrorizes Isaac into promising one thousand 
pounds of silver to the Baron. Isaac offers his life rather than have 
Rebecca surfer any evil. In another apartment DeBracy weakly sur- 
renders his suit, a victim to Rowena's tears. Urfried (Ulrica) the 
frenzied, warns Rebecca of her impending fate. In another apartment 
Rebecca successfully outwits the two-faced Sir Brian. Wamba, dis- 
guised as a monk, and with his "Pax Vobiscum," accepts the invitation 
of the Normans to receive confession from the Saxon captives. Wamba 
finally induces Cedric to take his disguise and escape. Ulrica recog- 
nizes Cedric, voices her sufferings, and permits Cedric to go unmo- 
lested. DeBoeuf accosts Cedric and trusts him with the mission of 
gaining aid from Philip De Malvoisin. The Normans prepare for the 
assault. In another apartment the wounded Ivanhoe is being nursed 



25 



by Rebecca. Rebecca vividly describes the struggle without the castle 
to the impatient Ivanhoe. In another part of the castle Ulrica plagues 
the dying Front-de-Boeuf with curses and blasphemies. Ulrica sets 
fire to the castle. DeBracy is captured. Sir Brian escapes with 
Rebecca. The "Black Knight" rescues Ivanhoe. Cedric rescues Row- 
ena. Athelstane is leveled to the gound by the Templar. Ulrica per- 
ishes in the flames of the castle. 

(5) Under Trysting Tree 

Athelstane, supposed to be dead, is borne away to his castle at . 
Conigsburgh. DeBracy is freed by Locksley. The spoils from Tor- 
quilstone are distributed. Locksley arranges a matter of ransom be- 
tween the Prior and Isaac. Isaac prepares to save Rebecca. Prince 
John feels shaky about DeBracy and Fitzurse, when the news of 
Richard's doings is reported. 

(6) Templestowe Preceptory 

The Grand Master tells Mont- Fitchet that he is determined to 
purify the Temple of its stains and sins. Isaac arrives and begs the 
Grand Master's leave to speak to Sir Brian. Isaac presents the appeal 
from Prior Aymer, but is spurned as the father of a witch. Sir Brian 
in fear of the Grand Master converses with Malvoisin for the transfer 
of Rebecca, but the Preceptor refuses. Rebecca's trial for witchcraft 
is prepared in the Great Hall. Higg testifies that he was cured by . 
means of Rebecca's diabolical medicines. Sir Brian fails to assert 
Rebecca's innocence. Rebecca demands a trial by combat and expects 
a champion. Isaac receives Rebecca's letter appealing for aid. Re- 
becca refuses the Templar's offer to save her if she would but accom- 
pany him in flight and matrimony. Wamba and the Black Knight 
are attacked by Fitzurse and Prince John's conspirators. Locksley 
and his men come to Richard's assistance. Richard, Ivanhoe and 
Gurth attend the sumptuous burial rites of Athelstane at Conigsburgh. 
Cedric forgives his son Ivanhoe. Athelstane comes back to life "to 
attend his own funeral" — relates his story. Ivanhoe and Richard sud- 
denly disappear. Ivanhoe appears at Templestowe at the last moment 
and champions Rebecca. Sir Brian is felled by apoplexy. Richard 
appears just a little too late. Richard dissolves the order of the 
Knights Templars. Isaac expresses his gratitude. Ivanhoe is mar- 
ried to Rowena. Rebecca pays her respects to Rowena. 

(d) Characterization : 
Gurth (Cedric's swineherd) : Stern, determined, faithful, morose, brave. 
Wamba (Cedric's Jester) : Witty, wordy, faithful, jolly, burlesque. 
Brian-De-Bois Guilbert (The Templar) : Brave, deceitful, cruel, 

haughty, passionate. 
Prior Aymer : Dissipating, hypocritical, greedy, narrow, happy. 
Cedric the Saxon : Hot-tempered, noble, conservative, vindictive, hos- 
pitable, proud of his race. 
Rebecca : Filial, brave, active, sympathetic, persevering, sincere, 
charming. 

Rowena : Regal, noble, beautiful, mild, dignified, passive. 
Prince John : Cruel, deceitful, weak-minded, cowardly, profligate, 
perfidious. 



26 



DeBracy: Profligate, weak-willed, cowardly, selfish, unfaithful. 

Front-de-Boeuf : Malignant, valorous, ferocious, formidable, cruel. 

Isaac of York: Fatherly, true, true to his race, appreciative, timid, 
supplicating, miserly. 

Richard (The Lion-Hearted) : Just, modest, brave, commanding, for- 
giving, jolly. 

Athelstane : Insipid, gluttonous, boastful, cheerful. 
Locksley (Robin Hood) : Just, proud, sympathetic, outspoken, brave, 
respectful. 

Ulrica (Urfried) : Maniacal, hysterical, weird, revengeful, decrepid. 
Ivanhoe : Gallant, chivalric, generous, noble, righteous, brave. 
Beaumanoir (Grand Master) : Formidable, ascetic bigot, authorita- 
tive, noble. 

Malvoisin (Preceptor) : Dissolute, unprincipled, hypocritical. 



TREASURE ISLAND (1881) 

Author : 

ROBERT STEVENSON. 

Born in Edinburgh, Scotland, Nov. 13, 1850. His father's 
family had been lighthouse and harbor engineers for three gener- 
ations. Robert was a sickly child. His schooling was very ir- 
regular. As a boy he was full of fun and full of tender feelings. 
Fond of outdoor exercise. Entered Edinburgh University for en- 
gineering. Abandons engineering for law. Receives degree, and 
is admitted to the bar of Scotland in 1875. The art of writing be- 
came a serious study. Suffered from lung trouble. Fails in law. 
Takes up writing as a profession. Marries Mrs. Osbourne in Cali- 
fornia. Her son, Lloyd, become his best friend. To the Adiron- 
dacks for his health. Becomes a prolific and famous writer. Takes 
a voyage to the Pacific South Sea Islands. Settles on the island 
of Upolu, in the Samoan group, in 1891. Buys the island and 
rules it on the Scottish plan. A dear friend to the natives. His 
mother joins him. Dies Dec. 3, 1894. 

Character and Style: 

Flighty and impetuous ; courageous and conservative ; self-re- 
liance. A man of moods, fits of anger, pangs of regret, elevations 
of joy, depths of despair, days of steady labor and large produc- 
tion, melancholy, nervousness, childishness. Love of adventure 
and of romance. 

An artist of words ; hypercritical ; "played the sedulous ape" 
to many writers; cautious and painstaking; excellent characteriza- 
tion ; vivid descriptions of the beautiful, the romantic, the com- 
monplace, and the real. Over-refinement due to the excess of 
effort. Interest in life in all of its various manifestations. 



27 



Principal Works: 

An Inland Voyage The Merry Men 

Travels with a Donkey Memoirs and Portraits 

Virginibus Puerisque The Black Arrow 

Treasure Island The Master of Ballentrae 

The Silverado Squatters The Wrong Box 

Prince Otto The Wrecker 

A Child's Garden of Verses Across the Plains 

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Island's Nights Entertainment 

Kidnapped David Balfour 

The Ebb Tide St. Ives 

Weir of Hermaston Letters 

Biography : 

Life of Stevenson, by Graham Balfour. 

Life of Stevenson, by Edmund Gosse, in the Britannica. 

The Story: 

Part One— The Old Buccaneer. 

Tim, the hero of the story, speaks. He describes the arrival of 
the Old Sea Dog at the "Admiral Benbow." .The captain is a roueh. 
fierce, and coarse sailor, addicted to drink and to telling dreadful 
stories. He fears a one-legeed sailor and keeps Jim on the lookout. 
The captain is morose when he is sober and violent when he is drunk. 
Hi«5 wicked, old sea-sone. "Yo-ho-ho. and a bottle of rum" was alreadv 
Avell-known to all in those parts. Dr. Livesev. visiting- Tim's sick 
father, fearlesslv and coolv warns the dirtv scoundrel" of his impend- 
ing fate at the hands of the demon. Drink. Black Dog appears and 
forces Jim to confirm the Captain's presence at the inn. After a heated 
argument between the two desperate men. Black Doe. wounded, 
escapes the fury of the Captain, while the latter is prostrated by a 
stroke. The Doctor treats the Captain, and gives the sea-doe a final 
warning-. But the Captain entreats Tim to give him another "noggin 
of rum" and when this is done, tells Hawkins to watch out for the 
blind Pew. The uglv and feared Pew finallv does appear, and roughly 
compels Jim to lead him to the Captain. Pew places the Black Spot 
upon the Captain's palm, and quicklv disappears. The Captain is 
struck dead bv thundering apoplexv. With Jim's father now deceased, 
the boy and his mother leave the inn to seek the help of the neighbors ; 
but none would consent to accompany them back. Mother and son 
throw all fear aside, return to the Benbow, and swiftly open the Cap- 
tain's trunk. The honest woman takes only what the Captain owes 
her, while Jim catches up an oilskin packet "for a good measure." 
They desert their home and the dead man on the floor, iust as they 
hear the tap-tapping of Pew. Mrs. Hawkins faints, and Jim helps her 
to a place of safety. Pew and his men are disaopointed in their search, 
and find only the left-over coins in the chest. Desperately, Pew orders 
his men to find the mysterious map — Flint's fist — but in vain. The 
revenue officers arrive on horseback' and the blind Pew, deserted by 
his men, is felled under the hoofs of a galloping horse. At Squire 
Trelawney's the packet is opened and the chart of the bloodthirstiest 
buccaneer — Flint — is examined. The exact specifications of the where- 
abouts of the hidden treasure are very obvious and convincing. En- 

28 



thusiastically, the Squire and Dr. Livesey determine to fit out a ship, 
and go hunting for Treasure Island. 
Part II.— The Sea Cook. 

The Squire writes from Bristol of his success in obtaining and 
fitting out the good ship, Hispaniola. He mentions the exceptional 
qualifications of the sailors he has procured, and especially those of 
Long John Silver. Jim prepares to leave for Bristol, as requested, 
and on arriving there, is fascinated by the activity and hustle-bustle 
of wharf-life. Jim takes a letter to the "Spyglass," John Silver's inn, 
and comes face to face with Black Dog, who then takes to his heels. 
Silver impresses Jim as being too clever, too deep, and too ready for 
him to understand. Silver laughs away the Black Dog incident. Cap- 
tain Smollett expresses his dislike for the crew, and the way the people 
all know the plans for the cruise. The Captain is suspicious of the 
sailors' fidelity. Powder and arms are shifted from the forehold to a 
good place under the cabin. The ship clears the harbor to the ac- 
companiment of the sailors' 

"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest" — 
"Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum !" * 

It is soon discovered that Arrow, the drunken mate, entirely dis- 
appeared. Silver, or Barbecue, is very popular and influential among 
the men. His parrot swears like blue fire. Jim Hawkins tremblingly 
hears Silver's treacherous scheme from the apple barrel. The cook 
first expatiates on the subject of thrift among seamen. He finally 
wins over Dick, the youngest sailor, to join the conspiracy of mutiny. 
Israel Hands, the coxswain, joins the two and applauds Silver's in- 
genuity. The shout of "Land ho !" interrupts the scheming men and 
offers Jim an opportunity to apprise his friends of what he heard from 
the apple barrel. Silver's duplicity is now appreciated. The Squire 
makes a list of those men upon whom he could depend in case of 
mutiny, and finds that the odds are nineteen to seven in favor of the 
conspirators. 

Part III.— My Shore Adventure. 

The hillf of Treasure Island are very strange in configuration. 
The island with its gray, melancholy woods and waves booming 
against the shore, depress Jim's spirits. He volunteers to go ashore 
in one of the boats. The men are. allowed shore-leave while the 
trusted men are furnished with loaded pistols. The hypercritical 
Silver slyly instructs the rebels over whom he is the leader. Jim 
steals into the boat with thirteen of the enemy. He escapes near the 
shore by swinging on a branch of a spreading tree. lim finds the is- 
land wild and uninhabited. He hears the death-yell of Alan, murdered 
in the distance, and sees Tom, another faithful seaman, brutally slain 
bv Silver. After fainting at the sight, Jim runs into the depths of the 
island. He meets the marooned Ben Gunn, whom he had at first 
mistaken for a wild deer. Ben tells his story and suggests the where- 
abouts of the hidden treasure. Meanwhile, a cannon shot is heard — 
a signal that the fight had begun. 

Part IV.— The Stockade. 

Narrative continued by Dr. Livesy. Jim's escape causes us great 
worriment. With Redruth, Joyce and Hunter, we manage to load our 



29 



shore-boat four times with ammunition, food, and weapons and es- 
tablish ourselves in the stout log house, ready to meet a regiment of 
mutineers. On the fifth trip, the overloaded boat becomes a target 
for the cannon aboard the Hispaniola. But at the moment that Hands 
fires his match, we swamp the jolly-boat and escape the screaming 
shot. Our stores, however, were hopelessly gone. We gain the stock- 
ade, but not without loss ; for poor Tom Redruth is laid low by a shot 
from the enemy. The mutineers are seen provided with muskets. 
Jim arrives with Ben Gunn. The latter is assured of Jim's friendship. 
Jim now tells of the loud and frequent report of a cannon that volleyed 
through the woods. The garrison in the stockade is filled with smoke. 
The men are divided into watches. Captain Smollett proves his 
worth. Silver arrives with a flag of truce. The treacherous cook de- 
mands the treasure-chart, and in return' promises to "clap you some- 
where safe ashore." Captain Smollett dismisses the impertinent Sil- 
ver with the threat of "putting a bullet in your back when next I meet 
you." A plan of defense is quickly put into force. In the hot attack 
that follows, Hunter is felled by a musket-blow, Joyce is shot through 
the head, and the captain is wounded by a blow from Anderson. Five 
of the enemy are killed, and in the confusion, and smoke, Jim escapes 
unharmed. 

Part V. — My Sea Adventure. 

With a brace of pistols and some biscuits in his pockets, Jim 
takes "French leave" of the disgusting stockade. He seeks and finds 
Ben Gunn's coracle, and in this light and portable boat, plans to slip 
out under cover of night and cut the Hispaniola adrift. Jim waits 
until the ebb tide runs' and when the taut hawser slackens. He then 
cuts the hawser asunder. On board he sees Israel Hands and another 
seaman, both worse of drink, furiously engaged in a deadly wrestle. 
Jim falls asleep in the coracle, prepared to meet death at any moment. 
Drenched and terrified, Jim is borne by the current toward the Cape 
of the Woods. He finally gains on the unsteered Hispaniola, and 
with one leap, manages to cling to the side of the schooner. Once on 
board, Jim observes the tallow-white face of Hands and the bloody 
body of the murdered O'Brien. Jim assumes the captamcy and satis- 
fies Hand's request for rum. He then removes the Jolly Roger — the 
flag of piracy — and substitutes a silken, white handkerchief. A grin of 
derision and a shadow of treachery make Jim suspicious of the crafty 
coxswain. The latter calls for wine, so as to prepare his bloody dirk 
for Jim. Hawkins is up to the game, and spies the scoundrel at his 
preparations. Israel Hands is not frightened by Jim's speech on the 
suffering of the guilty in after-life' and concludes that "dead men don't 
bite." When the ship is carefully beeched, Jim is unawaredly attacked 
by Hands, but is temporarily saved by the interfering tiller, which, 
when let go, struck the coxswain across the chest — senseless. Jim's 
water-soaked pistol fails to serve him. The ship cants over and cap- 
sizes Hands and Jim. As Hands whirls his dirk towards Jim on the 
mast, and pins rr.m to it, the boy's guns go off, and luckily dispose 
of the bloody coxswain. 

Part VI.— Captain Silver. 

Hands is both shot and drowned. The plucky Jim wades ashore 



30 



and makes his way to the blockhouse and his companions. But Sil- 
ver's parrot gives the signal of "Pieces of eight," thus arousing the 
mutineers and making Jim realize that he had unwittingly walked into 
the enemy's midst. Black despair fills Jim's heart. Silver informs him 
that his party had given him up as an "ungrateful scamp," and then 
had bargained to leave the blockhouse to the pirates. Jim fearlessly 
confesses that he was the cause of all that had befallen to the mutin- 
eers, and bravely offers the men the choice between his life and his in- 
fluence to save them from the gallows. The dissatisfied crew tempo- 
rarily defies Silver and demand the sacrifice of the boy. Long John 
stands by Jim. The men withdrew for a council and come back with 
the black spot for Silver. The men listen to Silver's reply to their 
grievances. He deprecatingly throws all the fault of the failure of 
the conspiracy upon his companions, justifies his acts, and to cap the 
climax, displays the chart of the treasure to the bewildered gaze of 
the "Gentlemen of Fortune." Silver is now hailed with enthusiasm as 
"Captain forever !" — notwithstanding the cook's thundering resigna- 
tion. Dick is made to realize the enormity of the sin he had committed 
by using the last page of the Bible for the black spot. Silver now 
holds his own again. Dr. Livesey calls the next day to visit his pa- 
tients, who have gotten the malaria into their systems. On the word 
of his honor, Jim is allowed to go off a ways to talk with the doctor. 
He refuses to run ofT with Dr. Livesey. Silver begs for future con- 
sideration, and the doctor promises to use his influence when it comes 
to "swinging" for the mutiny. The mutineers start on the treasure 
hunt, Jim being led by a rope, like a dancing bear. A human skeleton 
is taken to be Flint's pointer to the spot where the fortune lay buried. 
But the absence of personal belongings raises suspicion among the 
men. Suddenly a high, trembling voice from among the trees strikes 
terror into the hearts of the suspicious pirates. But Silver' more a 
man than the rest, dispels the gloom when he hits upqri Ben Gunn as 
the source of the noise. When the great excavation is reached, the 
sight of several packing cases ransacked and the boards strewn about, 
discloses to the dumb-founded crew that the cache had been found and 
already rifled. Silver realizes that his end was near. But just as the 
furious men were about to attack, musket shots halt them and fell 
two of the gang. The others escape. When Silver arrives with the 
party of rescuers at the cave, the Squire voices his sentiments in re- 
gard to the cook's monstrous and prodigious villainy. But the latter 
is now the same bland, polite, and obsequious seaman of the voyage 
out. The treasure is carefully loaded on the recovered Hispaniola. 
stored away, and the schooner starts homeward leaving the three 
remaining mutineers marooned. Silver disappears at the first landing- 
place, but not v/ithout a few money-bags. Gray, the faithful member 
of the crew, is well awarded for his services, while Ben Gunn squand- 
ers his share of the wealth. As for Jim, he was glad to be back home 
from the accursed Treasure Island. 

Characterization : 

Jim Hawkins : Plucky, swift, game, adventurous, lucky, and 
courageous. 

Mrs. Hawkins : Faithful, honest, weak, daring, and kind. 



31 



The Captain: Silent, sudden, fierce, coarse, tall, strong, heavy, 
rugged, mandatory, and "a real old salt." 

Black Dog : Pale, tallowy, fawning, sneering, and fearless. 

Pew: Dreadful-looking, hunched, blind, horrible, soft-spoken, 
cruel, cold, nimble, and "a cursing, atrocious miscreant." 

Dr. Livesey : Neat, bright, optimistic, brave, manly, shrewd, offi- 
cious, ministering. 

Squire Trelawney: Stately, condescending, hot-headed, high- 
spirited, exclamatory, talkative, noble, and respected. 

Mr. Dance, the Supervisor of the Revenue officers: Faithful, 
brave, officious. 

John Silver (Barbecue) : Wonderful dexterity, tall, strong, pleas- 
ant-tempered, garrulous, clever, bold, treacherous, bland, 
polite, obsequious. A feigning, abominable, old rogue. 

Captain Smollett: Cautious, dutiful, and efficient. 

Arrow : A drunken sailor whose uselessness and irresponsibility 
as boatswain finally ends in his disappearance. 

Israel Hands : A careful, wily, and experienced coxswain who' 
turns out to be a furious, brutal, sly, and brandy-faced rascal. 

Hunter, Joyce, and Redruth : Faithful followers of the Squire. 

Ben Gunn : A mutineer who becomes faithful to the Squire and 
proves himself active and ambitious. 

George Merry : Leader of the rebels against Silver ; superstitious. 

Dick and Morgan: Fickle-minded, superstitious seamen. 

Capt. Flint: The bloodthirstiest buccaneer or "Gentleman of 
Fortune." 



Authorship : 

Doubtful — probably by various poets and bards of different times 
before 1000 B. C. The earliest known works in Greek litera- 
ture, conveniently attributed to Homer. 
Criticism : 

The Iliad and the Odyssey have remained "the greatest examples 
of epic poetry of all literature, monuments to a genius that 
knew the springs of human conduct and that could paint men 
and women with such insight and accuracy that even to-day 
the reader finds in these hero-tales — tales of war and adven- 
ture, tales of bravery and nobility, tales of wisdom and 
strength and beauty — life truths that belong to all ages." 
History and Mythology: 

The Iliad is the story of the siege of Ilium or Troy, on the 
western coast of Asia Minor. Paris, son of the King* of Troy, 
had enticed Helen, the most beautiful of Grecian women, and the 
wife of a Grecian king, to leave her husband's home with him ; 
and the kings and princes of the Greeks had gathered an army 




THE ODYSSEY 



32 



and a fleet and sailed across the Aegean Sea to rescue her. For 
ten years they strove to capture the city. According to the fine old 
legends, the gods themselves took a part in the war, some siding 
with the Greeks, and some with the Trojans. It was finally 
through Ulysses or Odysseus, a famous Greek warrior, brave and 
fierce as well as wise and crafty, that the Greeks captured the 
city (cf. Story of the Wooden Horse). 

The second poem, the "Odyssey" tells what befell Odysseus 
on his homeward way. Sailing from Troy with his little fleet of 
ships, which were so small that they used oars as well as sails, he 
was destined to wander for ten years longer before he could return 
to his rocky island of Ithica, on the west shore of Greece, and to 
his faithful wife, Penelope. 

The ancient world consisted of the eastern end of the Medi- 
terranean Sea, and even that seemed to the ancients a great and 
marvelous region. Beyond its borders were supposed to be 
strange and mysterious lands, in which wonders of all kinds were 
found, and round all ran the great world-river, the circling stream 
of Ocean. 

The Gods : 

In the mountains of Olympus, to the northward, lived the 
Gods. Here was Zeus (Jupiter), greatest of all, the god of thunder 
and the wide heavens; Hera (Juno), his proud and jealous queen; 
Apollo (Phoebus), the god of light, of music, and of prophecy; 
Athene (Pallas, Minerva), the goddess of wisdom and the patron- 
ess of the domestic arts, who sprang full-grown from the forehead 
of Zeus; Poseidon (Neptune), ruler of the sea; Aphrodite 
(Venus), the goddess of love and beauty, born of the white sea 
foam; Hephaestus (Vulcan), the deformed god of fire, and the 
cunning forger of the thunderbolts of Zeus; Area (Mars), the 
god of war; Hermes (Mercury), the swift, wing-footed herald of 
the celestials, the god of invention and of commerce ; Artemis 
(Diana), goddess of hunting; Aeolus, the god of the winds; Atlas, 
the God who supported the earth on his shoulders; besides the 
gods, there were Calypso, a sea-nymph ; Pluto, the Lord of the 
infernal regions (Hades) ; Prosperine, his wife. 

Chief Figures in the Odyssey: 

Menelaus : King of Sparta, brother of Agamemnon, and husband 
of Helen. 

Agamemnon : King of Mycenae and Argolis. 
Paris : Son of the Trojan king Priam. 

Achilles : Central hero of the "Iliad/' slayer of Hector, and him- 
self slain by Paris. 
Hector : Son of King Priam of Troy. 
Telemechus : Son of Odysseus. 
Penelope. Faithful wife of Odysseus. 

Chapters I.-V. 

Athene tells Telemechus to prepare his ship for the search of 
his father, Odysseus. Telemechus believes Athene to be Mentes and 
later a god. Telemechus is mocked at by his mother's suitors when 



33 



he boldly insults them for their shameful dissipation and greed. The 
ship is stored with food and wine, and with Athene on board, Tele- 
mechus sets sail. At Pylos they are welcomed and feasted by the 
wise old Nestor. The latter knows very little of Odysseus' where- 
abouts and offers his son, Peisistratus, as a guide to Telemechus. 
Nestor's gift of a golden chariot and fine horses and plenty of wine 
and food is accepted by Telemechus. At Lacedaemon, King Mene- 
laus recalls the bravery of Odysseus and tells Telemechus of his 
father's stay on the island of Ogygia, in the power of Calypso. Pene- 
lope discovers her son's departure and hears of the plot of the suitors 
to await and murder him. Hermes informs Calypso that she must 
release Odysseus. The latter sets sail on a strong raft, but the en- 
raged Poseidon wrecks it and forces Odysseus to swim to the shores 
of Phaeacia. 
Chapters VI.-X. 

Nausicaa dreams (by the wish of Athene) of going on a washing- 
trip to the pools. King Alcinous grants his daughter's request. Nau- 
sicaa's maids play ball and accidentally awake the sleeping Odysseus ; 
whereat they all run away except the princess to whom Odysseus re- 
lates his. tale. King Alcinous welcomes our hero, while Athene 
guards him from any mistreatment. Odysseus defeats his Phaeacian 
opponents in the games that are held ; and, on hearing the bard singing 
of the Trojan war and his own great deeds, Odysseus weeps and then 
narrates his wanderings : of his slaying the Ciconians ; of the land of 
the Lotus-Eaters, where his men ate the forgetful-making plant ; of his 
arrival at the land of the Cyclops, the gigantic monster, who devours 
six of Odysseus' men; of the burning out of one of the eyes of the 
Cyclops ; of the escape of the party from the cave by tying each man 
under one of the Cyclops' sheep ; of the Cyclops' anger and revenge ; 
of the arrival at tke Island of Aeolia, where Aeolus presents Odysseus 
with a bag of winds. The greedy sailors open the bag and a storm of 
winds throws them all back to Aeolia. Of the wrath of Aeolus. At Laes- 
trygonia, Antiphates devours many of Odysseus' men. At Aeaea, the 
island of the enchantress, Circe, the sorceress changes some of Odys- 
seus' men into cattle. Odysseus' greater power is recognized by 
Circe, who, upon the former's request, returns his men to their original 
state. 

Chapters XI.-XX. 

Circe orders Odysseus to visit the lower world to consult the 
seer Teiresias. He does so and offers sacrifices to the dead. The. spirit 
of Elpenor begs for burial and for the oar with which he rowed among 
his comrades. The spirit of Anticleia, Odysseus' mother, comes next. 
Then the spirit of Teiresias appears, and him, only, does Odysseus 
permit to touch of the blood of the sacrificed sheep. The seer warns 
Odysseus that the sheep or kine of the Sun must not be harmed — then, 
only, would he reach home in safety. Odysseus converses with other 
spirits, buries Elpenor, and comes back to receive Circe's permission 
to leave the island. The sailors lash Odysseus to the mast and fill 
their ears with wax. Thus they pass the island of the Sirens without 
being tempted by their sweet music. Scylla, the sea-monster, swal- 
lows six of Odysseus' men. Charybdis, the monstrous whirlpool, sucks 



34 



up the sea and then belches her water back again. While Odysseus 
lies asleep and the food-supply is exhausted, the sailors kill the kine 
of the Sun. The God of the Sun causes Odysseus' men to be drowned. 
Odysseus, sailing nine days on a mast, finally reaches the island of 
Ogygia where he is kept prisoner by Calypso. The narration finished, 
Alcinous furnishes Odysseus with a ship loaded with gifts. He sleeps 
all the way, and is put down, sleeping, with his presents beside him, 
upon the shore of Ithica. Athene changes Odysseus to a beggar. 
Eumaeus, the swineherd, welcomes Odysseus although he fails to rec- 
ognize his master. Odysseus tells Eumaeus a false story of his life. 
The swineherd reveals his faithfulness to his master. Athene advises 
Telemechus to leave Sparta and prepare for his journey home. 
Eumaeus greets Telemechus and tells him of the stranger. Upon 
the advice of Athene, Odysseus reveals himself to Telemechus. Odys- 
seus then puts on his beggar's attire again. Odysseus in beggar's dis- 
guise is mocked and laughed at by the suitors. Antinous, the chief 
suitor, strikes Odysseus with a foot-stool. Penelope desires an inter- 
view with the "beggar." The fight between Irus, the beggar, and 
Odysseus. The death of Irus. Odysseus and Telemechus plot against 
the suitors. They hide all the armor and keep the women in their 
rooms. Athene assists. Odysseus delights Penelope with the reports 
of her husband. Eurycleia discovers the scar on the foot of Odysseus, 
but is bushed by the latter. The suitors gather in the palace, in ex- 
pectation that Penelope would that day choose one of them foi her 
husband. 

Chapter XXI.-XXIV. 

Penelope offers herself to the suitor that would bend Odysseus' 
bow.' All are unsuccessful. The gates of the castle are now closed. 
Then Odysseus easily bends his bow and begins the slaughter of the 
suitors. Antinous is first killed. Odvsseus reveals himself in the pres- 
ence of the other suitors who, likewise, meet the same death as their 
leader. The wrong-doing maids are also slain. The bodies are removed, 
the house fumigated, and Penelope is informed of Odysseus' presence. 
The faithful wife does not at first believe Eurycleia, her maid, but 
then goes to convince herself. The happy meeting between Odysseus 
and Penelope. Odysseus visits his father, Laertes, whose heart is filled 
with joy. The parents and friends of the dead suitors march against 
Odysseus, but the worst of them are slain. Athene establishes peace. 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM (1595-6) 
Dramatist : 

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

(For the poet's life, period, and works, see "As You Like It.") 
Sources : 

Original. *n the main. Chaucer's legend of "Thisbe of Babi- 
lon," and Golding's translation of the same story from Ovid, prob- 
ably furnished the matter for the Interlude. 



35 



Criticism : 

"It is a f6erie, a fairy-play, with its magical misadventures 
and with its sudden transformations. It is one of the most grace- 
ful and charming of Shakespeare's poetic pieces in its lyric at- 
mosphere, artificial and fantastic, yet with a reality of its own. 
It is the most exquisite of his comedies." "His astonishing power 
of creating unhuman beings whose works and ways are human 
in their rationality. . "A play of fancy and a plea for fancy. 
Love in a tangle, under the light teasing of the fairies, has its 
threads combed straight. In delightful contrast, to the light em- 
bodiment of fairy fancy is the interwoven struggle of men whose 
minds are little apt for escape from the realities of life, to con- 
ceive the ideal." "Human life is protrayed, from noble to clown, 
but it is human life played upon by the whimsical magic of fairy 
sprites. All sorts of fantastic happenings are possible in the 
poetic atmosphere of this moonlight wood." 

Plot: 

Act I. 

Scene I — Athens. A Room in the Palace of Theseus. 

The wedding-ceremony of Theseus, Duke of Athens, arid Hippo- 
lyta, Queen of the Amazons, is being prepared for elaborate execution. 
Egeus, father to Hermia, presents his daughter to the Duke, and com- 
plains that she insists in refusing to marry Demetrius, his choice. He 
likewise points out Lysander, Hermia's favorite. Egeus threatens to 
apply the law of Athens, by which a father may condemn his daughter 
to death or to exile, should the latter persist in her selection of a 
husband not acceptable to the parent. Hermia prefers exile to De- 
metrius. Lysander and Hermia lament their fate. They agree to meet 
in the wood to-morrow night, and thence escape beyond the bounds of 
Athens and its marriage laws, to a widow aunt of Lysander's, in 
shelter of whose home they may be married, and live in peace. Helena 
loves Demetrius, who scorns her, and rests his fancy on Hermia. The 
last tells Helena of her plan to escape with Lysander, and thus bright- 
en Helena's path to Demetrius. But Helena seeks to win favor from 
Demetrius by telling him the plot, which will send him also to the 
wood to-morrow night, she following. So to the wood all four. 

Scene II. — Athens. A Room in Quince's House. 

Quince the Carpenter, and Snug the Joiner, and Bottom the 
Weaver, and Flute the Bellows-mender, and Snout the Tinker, and 
Starveling the Tailor, join their collective wit to produce a play that 
may be chosen out of many to grace the wedding festival of Theseus. 
They resolve to produce their interpretation of the tale of "Pyramus 
and Thisbe." And that they may not be "dogged with company, and 
their devices known," after the distribution of their parts to them, 
allowing time to learn them, they agree to rehearse in the wood to- 
morrow night by moonlight. So to the wood all six. 

Act II. 

Scene I. — A Wood near Athens. 

To-morrow night has come, and we are in the wood haunted by 



36 



fairies with the household fairy, Puck, first on the scene. Puck ex- 
plains his mission, and tells us frankly what a very mischievous fel- 
low he is. 

Scene II. — Same, 

The King and the Queen of the Fairies, at odds with each other 
because of a little changeling boy whose mother was a votaress of 
Titania, arrive with their respective trains to bless the house of 
Theseus on his marriage night. Oberon bids Puck fetch him the 
flower whose juice works a spell upon the eyes it touches, making 
them madly dote upon the next live creature they see. With this he 
will take playful revenge upon his queen. Oberon, witness of the 
slighted love of Helena, will have some of the magic juice laid on 
Demertius' eyes. Sung to rest by the fairies, Titania sleeps. Oberon 
charms her eyes. Weary with wandering in the wood, Hermia and 
Lysander sleep. Puck charms, by mistake, Lysander's eyes ; he wakes 
to the sight of Helena, and follows her, leaving Hermia to wake and 
find herself alone. 

Act III. 

Scene I. — The Wood. 

Bottom and his friends meet in the wood to rehearse their play. 
The air of self-satisfaction makes Bottom a fit leader of his company. 
He makes a strong bid to play the Lion's part; and, in order not to 
frighten the ladies, a prologue explaining that he is no real lion, is 
necessary. Parts of Moonshine and Wall are assigned. Quince 
prompts Bottom as the latter rambles over his assigned part of Pvra- 
mus. Puck furnishes Bottom with an ass's head. In this guise, Bot- 
tom frightens away all his fellow handicraftsmen. While rambling in 
the nearby thicket, Bottom, wearied and tired, falls asleep. Titania, 
waking under the spell of the entrancing juice, and beholding Bottom, 
becomes enamoured of an ass (Bottom.) Bottom, in the arms of 
Titania, waited on by fairies, is lifted into the realms of fairyland. 

Scene II. — Another Part of the Wood. 

Puck reports to his King that Titania had fallen in love with an 
ass, and that by mistake, he had dropped the magic juice upon the 
wrong lover's (Lysander) eyes. These mistakes of Puck lead to 
amusing errors and misadventures in the careers of the lovers, — all 
of which pleases Oberon. By these mistakes, Demetrius follows 
Hermia, and Lysander, Helena. Oberon regrets the mistakes made 
by Puck, and bids him repair them. Thus, Demetrius is awakened 
to the sight of Helena to whom he pours his heart of love. But Ly- 
sander is still under the magic spell, and presses his attentions upon 
Helena. Poor Hermia is heart-broken. Puck resrrets the results of his 
error, and goes about to make things even. While the lovers are all 
asleep, Puck removes the charm from Lysander's eyes. 

Act IV. 

Scene I. — The Wood. 

Bottom and Titania are asleep. The charm is taken from the 
Queen's eyes as Bottom, in his ridiculous disguise, issues ludicrous 
orders to the fairies. Oberon and Titania are reconciled, and dance in 
their fairy ring. Theseus and Hippolyta are hunting in the wood- 




They come on the sleeping lovers; wake them with the huntsmen's 
horns ; and after all the fairy glamour of the night, its kindly mischiefs 
leave dissension healed. The lovers are now agreeably united; Ly- 
sander with Hermia; Demetrius with Helena. Egeus is reconciled, 
and the Duke is highly pleased with the turn of affairs. Bottom awakes 
from his trance, and soon realizes that he had rudely parted from his 
fellow-actors, while he dreamt that he was an — he hates to say the 
word. 

Scene II. — Athens. Room in Quince's House. 

The artisans are surprised by the failure of Bottom to make his 
appearance at their rehearsal. Bottom suddenly makes his appear- 
ance, but mentions not a word of his wonderful dream he had. They 
prepare to present their play. 

Act V. 

Scene I. — The Same. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus. 

The lovers enter as Theseus reads the program for the wedding- 
festival. The Prologue enters and introduces the cast of players 
separately. He enlarges upon the function of each actor. Bottom, 
as Pyramus, steps upon the stage, and addresses the "Wall." Through 
the fingers of "Wall," Pyramus peeps, but fails to behold his Thisbe. 
The latter soon enters, and the two lovers exchange expressions of 
love through the chink of the "Wall." Snug the Joiner as the Lion, 
informs the audience that he is harmless. By the light of the "Moon," 
Thisbe waits for her beloved one, but is soon frightened away by the 
"Lion." Pyramus then appears, thanks the "Moon" for her (?) beams, 
spies Thisbe's cloak besmeared with the blood— of the "Lion," and, 
with difficulty, stabs himself. Thisbe beholds her lover lying dead, 
and Juliet-fashion, stabs herself. Thus the tragic show is over. "Wall" 
and "Moonshine" walk off. The play ends with the blessing of the 
fairies on the house of Theseus, and Puck is there with his broom to 
sweep the dust behind the door. The night has traveled round the 
globe and brought the fairies back with it to Athens. Still they will 
float on, following darkness like a dream. 

Characterization : 

Bottom : A largely conceived creature, rich in humor and prefiguring 
the robuster and riper character of Falstaff. Bottom is not deliber- 
ately witty. He is unconsciously humorous, funny in spite of 
himself, and, therefore far more comic than traditional figures. 
In Bottom and his mates we can perceive imagination working 
on observation. Bottom stands on his own feet. He is exhuber- 
ant in humor because he is inexorably human. Superb in self- 
conceit, he is an eternal caricature of the amateur actor, fed on 
flattery and ready to undertake any part in any play or every part 
in every play. He and his comrades are prosaic handicraftsmen, 
horny-handed sons of toil with artistic aspirations. 

Egeus : Stern. 

Theseus : Kindly and tolerant. 
Helena : Ungenerous. 

Puck : Puck (or, as he was sometimes called, Robin Goodfellow) 
was a shrewd and knavish sprite, and used to play comical pranks 
in the neighboring villages. He loved mischief to his heart. It 



38 



was said that Pucks amused themselves by sitting on the points 
of house-gables, shaking off their arms and legs, to the conster- 
nation of the world below. (See Milton's "L'Allegro," 104-114). 

Titania : Proud. 

Oberon: Jealous. 

Hermia : Faithful. 

Demetrius : Disdainful. 

Lysander : Good, honest, faithful, noble. An ideal lover. 



AS YOU LIKE IT (1600) 

Dramatist : 

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

Born at Stratford-on-the-Avon, April 23, 1564. Died there 
April 23, 1616. Nothing known of his education ; some time in 
the office of an attorney; represented as deer-stealing, of which 
there seems to be evidence of his prosecution; at eighteen he 
married Anne Hathaway; the years 1586-1611 he spent in Lon- 
don ; was an actor ; a remodeller of old plays, a dramatist ; he 
became famous and rich; retired as a country gentleman and 
wrote dramas; wrote thirty-seven plays, thirty-six of which are 
collected in the First Folio of 1623 ; wrote beautiful sonnets, and 
became distinguished for his poetry. 
Works: 

His works may be divided into four periods : 
I. Early experimentation : 1587-1595. 

Titus Andronicus, Love's Labor Lost, Two Gentlemen of 
Verona, Richard III. 
II. Rapid growth and development: 1595-1600. 

Merchant of Venice, Midsummer Night's Dream, As You 
Like It (1599-1600). 

III. Gloom and depression: 1600-1607. 

Sonnets, Twelfth Night, Hamlet, King Lear, Othello, Mac- 
beth, Julius Caesar. 

IV. Restored serenity: 1607-1616. 
Winter's Tale, The Tempest. 

The Period : 

Elizabethan Age: 1550-1620. 

Political : Spanish Armada defeated ; Elizabeth inspired her peo- 
ple with patriotism and national life ; a period of peace. 

Religious toleration : Elizabeth favored all parties indiscrimi- 
nately. 

Social contentment : Prosperity in trade, commerce, wealth ; 

care for poor ; improvement in living ; gay social life ; 
sumptuous court life. 



39 



Literature i 

Like Periclean Age in Greece. 

Like Augustan Age in Rome. 
Poets : 

Edmund Spenser (1552-1599). 
Thos. Kyd (1570-1595). 
Robt. Greene (1560-1592). 
Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593). 
Francis Beaumont (1585-1616). 
John Fletcher (1576-1625). 
Ben Jonson (1576-1637). 
The Play: 

Source : Novel by Thomas Lodge, published in 1590, under the 
title of "Rosalynde, Euphues Golden Legacie." Prof Hudson says: 
"He merely borrowed certain names and incidents for the bodying 
forth of conceptions. The true, not the new, was always the soul of 
his purpose." 

Title: "Does not everything turn out just As You Like It?" 
''The whole play indeed is As You Like It." 

A Romantic Pastoral : A play which carries its actors into wood- 
land scenes and which is full of the freshness and freedom of the 
open air. We have the sunlight tempered by forest-boughs, the 
sweet-scented breeze and the natural wealth of rusticity. A land of 
the Heart's desire ; a Utopia ; purely imaginative and unreal ; a wild, 
wonderful, remote, fairy-land region, where all sorts of poetical things 
may take place without the slightest difficulty; a lovers' retreat; 
where "sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, warbles his native wood- 
notes wild." 

Act One 

The Plot: 

Scene I. Orchard of Oliver's house. Orlando, youngest son of 
the dead Sir Rowland de Bois, tells Adam, the old faithful servant of 
the family, of his abuse at the hands of his eldest brother, Oliver,. 
Orlando presents his grievances to Oliver, forces him to take note of 
what he has unfairly suffered, and expresses his determination that he 
will not stand for such treatment any longer. Oliver spurns old Adam 
like a dog. Oliver urges Charles, the usurping Duke's wrestler, to 
make quick work of Orlando, who proposes to challenge the 
champion. 

Scene II. A lawn before the Duke's palace. Celia, the eldest 
daughter of Frederick, the usurping Duke, is closely" befriended by 
Rosalind, the daughter of the banished Duke. Both Dukes are 
brothers. Celia begs her cousin and bosom friend to try to feel at 
home and happy during her strained habitat at the court of her 
treacherous uncle. Touchstone, a clown, relieves the monotony and 
entertains the cousins by his "wise wit." LeBeau, a courtier, invites 
the cousins to the wrestling-match. Rosalind and Celia fail to dis- 
suade Orlando from his purpose of meeting the same fate at the 
hands of Charles as those who had preceded him. The ladies extend 
Orlando their favors and good wishes. Charles is badly thrown by 
Orlando. Duke Frederick is displeased with Orlando's victory, being 
that Sir Rowland de Bois had been an enemy of Frederick's. Rosa- 



40 



lind and Orlando fall in love with each other. LeBeau warns Orlando 
that Frederick's disfavor compels him (Orlando) to take flight. 

Scene III. A room in the palace. Rosalind confides to Celia her 
love for Orlando. Frederick banishes Rosalind as a traitor and up- 
braids his daughter, Celia, for her foolish attachment to one (Rosa- 
lind) who robs her of her (Celia's) good name. Celia cheers Rosa- 
lind by her faithful design to accompany her in her (Rosalind's) ban- 
ishment. They plan to escape. They are accompanied by Touch- 
stone. 

Act Two 

Scene I.. Forest of Arden. The banished Duke compares the 
sweetness of the free woodland life with the painted pomp of court- 
life. The Lord of Amiens relates how he espied the melancholy Jaques 
weeping over the sad plight of the deer and swearing that hunters 
are tyrants and usurpers. 

Scene II. A room in the palace. The disappearance of Rosalind, 
Celia and Touchstone is made known, and Duke Frederick suspects 
Orlando. He therefore sends for Oliver. 

Scene III. Before Oliver's house. Adam informs Orlando of 
Oliver's plan to set fire to Orlando's lodging. Orlando does not know 
what to do, but Adam offers him his 500 Crowns which he had saved, 
on condition that he would be permitted to accompany and still serve 
Orlando. Orlando and the faithful Adam make their escape to the 
Forest of Arden. 

Scene IV. Forest of Arden. Rosalind, Celia and Touchstone, 
exhausted and foot-weary, cannot go any farther. They overhear the 
shepherd, Silvius, confessing his love for Phebe to old Corin. Corin 
directs the weary travelers to a nearby cottage where hospitality may 
be had if one should but purchase the farm, which is for sale. 

Scene V. The Forest. A picture of the jolly life in the forest. 
Amiens sings, the Lords join in the chorus, and Jaques sardonically 
parodies the songs. 

Scene VI. The Forest — another part. Adam can travel no 
farther. Orlando leaves him to seek for food. 

Scene VII. The Forest. During a feast, Jaques entertains the 
Duke and his band by narrating his experiences with a fool he had 
met in the forest. Jaques begs for a motley (fool's dress) for, as a 
fool, he maintains that he could cleanse "the foul body of the in- 
fected world." Orlando rudely breaks in, and with drawn sword, 
demands food. He is soon made to feel that he is among friends, and 
goes off to fetch Adam. Jaques, in this interim, philosophizes on the 
seven ages of man, comparing this world to a stage wherein each of 
us has his entrance and his exit. From infant, school-boy, lover and 
soldier, he passes to justice, old age and second childhood. Orlando 
and Adam are fed. Amiens sings and there is general joy. 

Act Three 

Scene I. A room in the palace. Duke Frederick orders that 
Oliver's possessions be seized unless Oliver produce Orlando. 

Scene II. Forest of Arden. Orlando hangs his love-poems ad- 
dressed to Rosalind on the trees. Touchstone impresses upon Corin 



41 



the wisdom of preferring court-life. Rosalind (dressed as a young 
man and called Ganymede) reads the poems addressed to her by a 
lover as yet unknown to her. Touchstone parodies the poem. Celia 
(callied Aliena) comes in reading another one of these poems" which 
she has "plucked" from one of the trees. Celia believes it is Orlando 
who writes these poems and confides this to Rosalind. Orlando and 
Jaques meet, rail at each other, and agree to disagree ; for, "Signior 
Love" and "Monsieur Melancholy" cannot very well mix. Rosalind 
meets Orlando, who takes a liking to this pretty "youth." Rosalind 
proves to Orlando that he is not a true lover; otherwise he would 
know exactly what time of day it was. Orlando confesses that he 
is the one who hangs the odes and elegies on the trees. Rosalind 
protests Orlando's being a genuine lover, for his dress, walk, and 
general appearance are very carefree. Rosalind undertakes to cure 
Orlando of his love-sickness on condition that he call "her" Rosalind 
and come daily to "her" cottage. 

Scene III. The Forest. Touchstone falls in love with Audrey, 
a country wench, and procures Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar, to per- 
form the marriage ceremony. Jaques interferes and persuades the 
couple to go to church where they might have a "good priest that 
can tell you what marriage is." 

Scene IV. The Forest. Rosalind is disappointed and ill-humored 
because of Orlando's failure to come at the appointed time. 

Scene V. Another part of the Forest. Phebe scorns Silvius. 
Rosalind comes in, upbraids Phebe for her exulting and proud spirit, 
and "puts her down a peg from her high horse." Phebe, however, 
makes matters worse by falling in love with this sharp-tongued 
"youth," Rosalind. Silvius offers to act as messenger between Phebe 
and Rosalind. 

Act Four 

Scene I. The Forest. Jaques expounds his melancholy make- 
up. Rosalind tests Orlando's love for herself, tries his patience, fails, 
and finally persuades Orlando that his real Rosalind would surely 
love and marry him. They mimic a mock-marriage ceremony. Or- 
lando promises to return in two hours. 

Scene II. The Forest. The banished Duke and his Lords make 
merry with songs and laughter. 

Scene III. The Forest. Silvius delivers Phebe's note to Rosa- 
lind. Rosalind shames Silvius because of his unmannishness and dis- 
misses him empty-handed to Phebe. Oliver tells his story to Rosa- 
lind and Celia : how Orlando saved him from the coils of a snake 
and the claws of a lioness; how he aided his wounded rescuer and 
brother to the Duke's retreat; how much he, Oliver, repented his 
harsh treatment of Orlando and Adam-; and how Orlando gave him 
the bloody napkin to take as evidence of his inability to come to 
Rosalind at the appointed hour. Rosalind swoons but soon comes 
to, explaining that she had only "made believe." 

Act Five 

Scene I. The Forest. Touchstone dispatches William, a coun- 



try fellow in love with Audrey, as unworthy to compete with him for 
the "fair" prize. 

Scene II. The Forest. Oliver confesses his love for Celia. Rosa- 
lind promises Orlando, that, like a magician, she will have the real 
Rosalind marry him, on the same day as Celia is married to Oliver. 
Rosalind likewise promises Phebe and Silvius to satisfy their passions 
for Ganymede and Phebe respectively. 

Scene III. The Forest. Two Pages sing in honor of the coming 
marriage of Touchstone and Audrey. 

Scene IV. The Forest. Rosalind obtains the banished Duke's 
promise to give his daughter to Orlando, and Phebe's promise to 
marry Silvius if she (Phebe) refuse Ganymede. All marvel at the 
young "man's" audacious plots and plans. Touchstone explains the 
seven degrees of a lie ; namely, Retort Courteous, Quip Modest, Reply 
Churlish, Reproof Valiant, Countercheck Quarrelsome, Lie Circum- 
stantial, and Lie Direct. Rosalind and Celia now enter undisguised, 
accompanied by Hymen, the God of Marriage. All stand gaping at 
this strange spectacle and revelation. Orlando embraces his Rosa- 
lind, Phebe keeps her promise and goes with Silvius, Celia joins 
Oliver, and Touchstone stands beside his Audrey. They are all mar- 
ried. Orlando's youngest . brother comes in to announce that Duke 
Frederick had reliquished his plans of leading his army against the 
banished Duke in the Forest of Arden, being thus influenced by a 
monk who had met the Duke and his army at the edge of the forest and 
persuaded the usurper to put on a religious life and repent his past 
sins. The banished Duke and his band all plan to return to their court. 
Jaques, however, who cares naught for "dancing measures," prefers 
to stay in the abandoned forest, and later joins the converted usurper. 

Epilogue : Rosalind playfully charges the women and men to like 
the play. 

Characterization 

Orlando: Brave, gentle, modest, magnanimous, noble-hearted, 
"never schooled, and yet learned, enchantingly beloved," gen- 
erous, "good without effort," witty, strong of body and direct of 
will, manly and resolute. 

Banished Duke : Sweet-tempered, wise, kindly, considerate, gracious, 
"in his philosophy so bland, benignant, and contemplative." 

Touchstone: Professed clown, wise, full of "grave, acute nonsense," 
unselfish, faithful, lovable, human, whimsical, whose habit is "to 
speak all for effect, nothing for truth," much of the philosopher 
in the fool. 

Jaques : An odd choice mixture of reality and affection ; much of 
the fool in the philosopher ; fond of solitude yet not unsocial ; 
utterly useless yet harmless type of man ; merry-sad spirit ; virtue 
wronged, buffeted, oppressed, is his special delight; melancholy 
. of self love ; racy, original, morbid-minded because virtuous ; 
paradoxical ; exists only to talk ; he has no function to perform 
in the plot; delights in railing at the world. 

Rosalind : Sparkling, fresh, sweet, charming, witty, voluble, sprightly, 
tender, sensible, delicate, self-possessed, playful, lovely; with a 
soft, subtle, nimble essence, her wit neither stings nor burns ; an 



43 



irrepressible vivacity ; cunning; her heart is a perennial spring of 
affectionate cheerfulness; "faster than her tongue doth make 
offense, her eye does heal it up;" outwardly merry and inwardly 
sad at the same time ; she laughs out her sadness ; frolicsome with 
a firm basis of thought and womanly dignity; she never laughs 
away our respect; unfailingly feminine, petulant, and provoking, 
yet womanly; "a healthy girl, glad to be wooed." 
Celia : More quiet and retired than Rosalind ; full of sweetness, kind- 
ness, intelligence; witty, faithful, generous, sympathetic. 

Characteristics of the Play 

Romantic, philosophical, and picturesque. 

"In no other play do we find the bright imagination and fascinat- 
ing grace of Shakespeare's youth so mingled with the thoughtfulness 
of his maturer age." 

Shakespeare found rest and freedom and pleasure in escape from 
courts and camps to the Forest of Arden. 
• "Sweetest and happiest of all Shakespeare's comedies." 

"Shakespeare invites us into that ideal commonwealth for which 
all men in all times have sighed ; the land of an easeful liberty ; the 
life natural, which has never existed in nature, where there is neither 
war nor toil, but endless security and peace beneath the sky and the 
trees." 

For Memorization 

Jaques' speech, beginning "All the world's a stage, and all the 

men and women merely players." 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE (1770) 

Poet: 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH— "The Wandering Minstrel." 

Born at Pallas, Ireland, November 10, 1728. Died at London, 
April 4, 1774. Poet, novelist, dramatist, essayist, historian, mis- 
cellaneous writer. Regarded as a boy as hopelessly stupid, spend- 
thrift; idle, irresponsible; tried his hand at medicine, theology, 
pedagogy, singing, pharmacy, actor and usher ; a failure in all ; 
seized with the wanderlust, and wandered like a cheerful beggar 
over Europe, sang, and played his flute for food and lodging; 
possessed an inordinate vanity for bright-colored clothes; gave 
indiscriminate charity, himself a case for the poor-house; the 
butt and wit of the famous Literary Club; a homely, awkward, 
droll, and absurd hack-writer ; optimistic ; a lover of Nature ; pos- 
sessed a warm heart and a genial nature. Dr. Johnson said of 
him : "No man's friend, since he had never been a friend to him- 
self ; let not his frailties be remembered ; he was a very great 
man." Thackeray wrote: "Think of him as reckless, thriftless, 
vain — if you like; but also as merciful, gentle, generous, full of 
love and pity." 



44 



Criticism : 

"His humor delighting us still, his song fresh and beautiful 
as when he first charmed with it, his words in all our mouths, his 
very weaknesses beloved and familiar — his benevolent spirit seems 
still to smile on us, to do gentle kindnesses, to succor with sweet 
charity, to soothe, caress, and forgive, to plead with the fortunate 
for the unhappy and the poor." 

" 'The Deserted Village' is a poem the beauty of which is 
unanalyzable. It is a pastoral lyric that possesses in its finest lines 
no artifice but the genuine emotion which beats into rhythm the 
ecstasy of beholding the joys of peasantry, the pathos of seeing 
these joys pass into sorrows, and the indignation which is hot 
against a government that has made laws to grind the poor and 
elevate the rich. Goldsmith's lines are virulent and bitter in 
protest against the social evils of his day. He hangs crape on his 
imagery not only to set off hatred against injustice and greed of 
the luxurious rich, but also to set off in sparkling colors crystal 
tears dropped for true love's sake. We feel that he is choking 
down the tears as he pours out his heart's agony. 

"A hopeless dreaVner bound to see everything as he saw his 
debts and his gay clothes, in a purely idealistic way." 
Works: 

"History of England," "The Vicar of Wakefield," "A Roman 
History," "Citizen of the World," "The Traveller," "The Good 
Natured Man," "Retaliation," "She Stoops to Conquer." 
Introduction : 

If one throws aside Goldsmith's economic theories and didacti- 
cism, this pastoral remains the most genuinely charming masterpiece 
among all the English lyrics. The poet is sensitive to pain and melan- 
choly in all his lines by reason of a heart still broken by the remem- 
brance of the loss of a brother he loved so well. It is generally believed 
that by "Auburn" he intended to designate his native village, Lissoy, 
in Ireland, and that Gen. Robert Napier was the depopulator of this 
unfortunate parish. Napier enclosed a domain of nine miles in cir- 
cumference, in which were included three respectable families with 
all their tenants and dependents. Upon the general's death his house 
was robbed by the indignant peasants, and all his woods cut down. 

The Poem: 

(a) Auburn, loveliest village of the plain: Health and plenty; 
smiling spring and summer's lingering bloom ; lovely bowers of inno- 
cence and ease; my frequent loiterings ; humble happiness, its charms; 
sheltered cot, cultivated farm, never-failing brook, busy mill, decent 
church, hawthorn bush, shady seat for talking age and whispering 
lovers ; the sports ; sleights of art, feats of strength, dancing contests, 
enjoyments. 

(b) The Change : The charms and sports have fled ; the tyrant's 
hand is seen — desolation saddens all the green ; the grasping master 
of the whole domain; the brooks is choked with sedges and weeds — 
everything is a shapeless ruin ; the people leave the land. 

(c) Causes : Wealth accumulates and men tfecay ; the bold peas- 
antry is destroyed ; trade usurps the land and dispossesses the swain ; 



45 



cumbrous pomp takes the place of innocence, health, and ignorance of 
wealth ; calm desires and healthful sports have departed. 

(d) The Poet's Sorrow : Remembrance swells at my heart and 
turns the past to pain. I still had hopes to spend my last days at" 
home — to tell of all I felt and all I saw ; this blessed retirement, friend 
to life's decline, and retreat from care, that never must be mine; the 
sounds of population fail — the wretched, poverty-stricken maiden, the 
sad historian, is all alone; at proud men's doors the villagers ask for 
a little bread. 

(e) Reminiscences. The swain responsive as the milk-maid sang ; 
the lowing of the herd, the noisy geese, the playful children, the 
watch-dog's voice ; his own happy life in the village. 

(f) The Village Preacher : To all the country dear — passing rich 
at forty pounds a year ; away from the town's ungodliness ; unpractised 
to fawn or seek for power ; more skilled to raise the wretched than to 
rise; his house open to vagrants, beggars, spendthrifts, broken-down 
soldiers, and the poor ; forgot their vices in their woe ; his pity gave 
ere charity began ; to relieve the wretched was his pride ; prompt in 
his duty at every call; he prayed and felt for all; allured to brighter 
worlds and led the way; despair and anguish fled at his control; at 
church he was meek with an unaffected grace ; truth always pre- 
vailed; fools who came to scOff remained to pray; his ready smile a 
parent's warmth expressed; eternal sunshine settled on his head. 

(g) The Village School-Master : Severe and stern ; every truant 
knew him well ; we could trace the day's disasters in his morning face ; 
we smiled at his jokes and whispered at his frowns; he could write, 
cipher, measure lands, presage terms and tides; argue skillfully, and 
even gauge ; used words of learned length and thundering sound ; the 
rustics gazed and wondered how one small head could carry all he 
knew; the school-house is now forgotten. 

(h) The Village Inn : Where nut-brown draughts inspired ; gray- 
beard mirth and smiling toil retired here ; the "village statesmen" 
talked with looks profound ; news cnuch older than their ale went 
round ; the white- washed walls, nicely sanded floor, the chest a bed by 
night, a chest of drawers by day; ornamental and useful pictures; the 
twelve good rules ; the royal game of goose ; the hearth covered with 
flowers and branches ; broken tea-cups glistened in a row over the 
chimney; here no more the peasant will repair — no more the farmer's 
news, the barber's tale, the woodman's ballad, the smith's warm friend- 
ship, or the-coy inn-maid's kiss. 

(i) The Poet's Ideals and Principles: More dear and congenial 
is one native charm than all the gloss of art; spontaneous joys are 
unenvied, unmolested, unconfmed ; the long pomp and masquerade at 
midnight and the freaks of wanton wealth make up the toiling and 
sickening pleasures of the rich ; the rich man's joys increase and the 
poor's decay; folly and trade go together; the man of wealth and 
pride takes up a space that many poor supplied ; the land in barren ; 
splendor feebly waits the fall; the land is betrayed by luxury and 
blooms a garden and a grave; where shall poverty reside to escape the 
pressure of contiguous pride — O Luxury! thou curst by Heaven's 
decree. 

(j) The City: Here is profusion not shared by the poor; ten 



46 



thousand baneful arts combined to pamper luxury ; joy extorted from 
woe ; the courtier glitters in brocade ; the long-drawn, pompous dis- 
plays of the proud; the black gibbet glooms beside the way;. the gor- 
geous train of midnight pleasure-seekers ; tumultuous grandeur crowds 
the blazing square ; rattling chariots clash, torches glare ; the village 
maid, once sweet, innocent, and modest, lies here at her betrayer's 
door, her virtue fled — immorality. 

(k) The Wanderings of the Villagers : To distant climes, with 
fainting steps they go through torrid tracts, suffering the terrors of 
the blazing sun, matted woods, poisonous fields, rattling terrors of 
snakes, crawling tigers, savage men, mad tornadoes, and ravaged 
landscapes; deserts and wildernesses. 

(1) The Departure of the Villagers : Sorrows gloomed the part- 
ing; called from their native walks away, the poor exiles hung round 
their bowers, fondly took their long and last farewell, shuddering to 
face the distant deep; returned and wept; the good old sire wept for 
others' woe ; his lovely daughter left a lover's for a father's arms ; the 
mother spoke her woes with louder plaints. 

(m) The Departure of the Rural Virtues: A melancholy band 
which darkens the strand; contented Toil, hospitable Care, connubial 
Tenderness, Piety, steady Loyalty, and faithful Love. 

(n) The Poet Laments and Exhorts His Muse : Sweet Poetry, 
first to fly where sensual joys invade — unfit to catch the heart or strike 
for honest fame in these degenerate times ; neglected and decried ; my 
shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; source of all my bliss and all my 
woe — thou foundest me poor at first and kept me so, thou nurse of 
every virtue, fare thee well; let thy voice redress all rigours; aid 
slighted Truth ; teach erring men to spurn the rage of gain, teach him 
that very poor states may still be blest; that trade's proud empire 
hastes to swift decay; that self-dependent power can time defy. 



ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 

(1742-1750) 

The Poet: 

THOMAS GRAY— "The greatest English lyric poet." 

Born at London, England, December 26, 1716. Died July 30, 
1771. A profound scholar versed in philosophy, botany, zoology, 
languages, history, archaeology, music, art. Received LL.B. from 
Cambridge University, toured the Continent with Horace Wal- 
pole, Jr., declined the poet-laureateship ; professor of modern his- 
tory at Cambridge ; very modest, studious, contemplative ; the 
tyranny of his father, and the separation from his mother gave to 
his whole life the stamp of melancholy which is noticeable in all 
his poems ; wrote very little, because he was very hpyercritical of 
his own work; his manners were disagreeably effeminate and 
fastidious ; a man of the mose exact taste, the purest morals, and 
melancholy disposition. 

47 



Criticism: 

Extreme conciseness of expression, yet pure, perspicuous, and 
musical. The diction has a perfect finish, felicity of expression, 
wealth of apt and splendid imagery, and unsurpassable harmony ; 
his taste is both exact and pure, and his judgment always sound ; 
his life was a luxuriant, thoughtful dream ; philosophical, histori- 
cal, earnest, magnificent, keen, sensitive ; his feeling is democratic, 
and he shows a strong sympathy with the tillers of the soil and 
with Nature ; his point of view is subjective and individual. 

The Poem: 

Evening comes; the curfew rings and the villages are covering 
or banking the fires ; the slow-moving cattle follow the various cow- 
paths across the pasture towards the barn; the weary plowman dis- 
appears in the twilight, and the poet is left lone with the rural scenes 
and the graveyard about him; presently they too disappear in the 
darkness and the poem become subjective — a record of the poet's 
thoughts concerning the life and death of the poor. 

In the Uncertain light of evening, the quiet disturbed only by such 
sounds as the blundering May-beetle's buzzing flight and the muf- 
fled tinkle of distant sheep-bells, as the woolly creatures sink down 
one by one to sleep, the poet muses. 

The mysterious owl hoots from her ancient solitary retreat in the 
church-tower and complains to the moon of those who break into 
the peaceful silence about her. 

Under the elms and yew trees in the graveyard, beneath the 
mouldering heaps of sod, the forefathers of the little village lie in 
eternal sleep. 

The breezy sweet mornings, the twittering swallows, the cock's 
shrill clarion, or the hunter's horn will never wake these dead from 
their sleep. No more will they enjoy the pleasures of the blazing 
hearth, the busy housewife, or the children's welcoming kiss. Their 
harvests yielded to their scythes and their plows furrowed the hard 
earth. Merrily did they drive their teams afield and make the woods 
echo with their sturdy axe-strokes. 

The ambitious must not laugh at their (simple villagers now- 
dead) useful and humble toil, or their rustic sports, or their obscure 
destiny ; nor must the grand smile disdainfully at the short and simple 
careers of the poor; for, the boastful nobility, the pompous lords, the 
beautiful and the rich must all meet inevitable Death ; the paths of 
glory lead but to the grave. 

It is not the fault of these poor peasants that trophies do not deco- 
rate their graves, that they were not buried amidst the famous in the 
vaults of Westminster, and that the pealing choir did not sing notes of 
praise. 

The ornamental vase bearing the ashes of the great and famous 
or the life-like bust of a world-figure cannot recall the soul and life 
of the dead ; nor can Honor and Flattery charm the silent dust. 

Perhaps in this neglected graveyard is buried a person full of 
divine enthusiasm, which might have manifested itself in statecraft 
by swaying the rod of empire, or in poetry by playing upon men's 
memories and emotions until they were aroused to ecstasy. 

4* 



But Knowledge never gave these villagers a chance to study her 
pages full of wisdom ; their dire and wretched poverty wiped out and 
dried up the springs of genius and inspiration. 

Just as there are many gems of the purest quality in the unfath- 
omed caves of the ocean, and just as there are many flowers of rarest 
beauty which are never beheld by the eye of man, so are there men 
of supreme worth and ability who are never heard of for one reason 
or another. 

Probably here may be resting men of the greatness of John Hamp- 
den (who refused to pay the ship-money tax which Charles I. was 
levying without the authority of Parliament) ; poets of the sublimity of 
John Milton ; leaders of the stamp of the great Protector, the brave 
and patriotic CromweH. 

The condition of these simple rustics prevented them from be- 
coming famous orators ; they did not know what it meant to despise 
threats of ruin and pain, for they never had cause to do so ; their 
plain and monotonous circumstances prevented them from contrib- 
uting to the prosperity of the nation and making themselves his- 
torically famous ; they were ever virtuous, crime having no place in 
their affairs; they were not in the position to become tyrants and to 
win a bloody crown ; for they were always merciful to all humanity ; 
they never consciously hid the truth, for they had no reasons or 
causes or motives to tell falsehoods; they never hid their shame in 
hypocritical blushes, for they were frank and open-faced ; they had no 
luxurious and proud patrons or masters to glorify and worship, as 
poets were accustomed to do ; their simple affairs never brought them 
in touch with the sordid competitive struggles of city people ; they 
kept the- same straight path of righteousness and simplicity and never 
strayed therefrom. 

Yet to protect their graves from insult, frail memorials have 
been erected, slabs modestly inscribed with uncouth rhymes and shape- 
less sculpture, which call for, at least, a passing sigh ; instead of words 
of praise, there appear on these toppling stones, in unpolished poetry, 
extracts from the Bible, which are sufficient to make the peasant meet 
death unflinchingly ; before one is about to meet Death and leave this 
world of joys and cheer, he looks back upon his life and bids it a 
long and sad farewell : the parting soul relies on some fond breast and 
requires some pious ( "ops to grace the closing eye ; the spirits of the 
dead live with us even after their departure. 

If some day another poet should be meditating here as you (Gray) 
are, vindicating the unhonored dead in this graveyard — if that poet 
should inquire about you (Gray) and your fate, probably some silvery- 
haired rustic might tell him how you would rise very early in the 
morning, hastily walk along the dewy lawns, up the hill, and meet the 
rising sun when you reached its summit, lie down under yonder nod- 
ding beach, and, outstretched, would watch the babbling brook as it 
sang its way along; how you (Gray) would mutter as you wandered, 
now disappointed, now pale, now forlorn, now crazed with care ; how 
one day you did not appear at your usual haunts; and the next day 
did not find you (Gray) there either; but on the following day you 
were dead, and were being buried with becoming ceremonies in the 



49 



churchyard ; a stone with an epitath engraved, marked the spot where 
you lie. 

The Epitaph: Here upon the lap of Mother Earth rests a youth 
unknown to fame and fortune; although of humble birth, the pages 
of Knowledge were not strange to him ; melancholy left a deep mark 
upon his life ; he was grateful, sincere, sympathetic, and friendly ; look 
no further for his merits or frailties ; let them rest in hopeful judgment 
upon the bosom of his Father and his Goth — 



POE'S SELECTED TALES. 

Author: 

EDGAR ALLEN POE. 

Born in Boston, on January 19, 1809. Died in Baltimore, 
October 9, 1849. His mother was an actress of much skill and of 
high character. He was a beautiful arid precocious child. Later 
adopted by the Allen family of Richmond. To England with the 
Aliens; studied Latin and French in a London school; back to 
Richmond at eleven; wrote verses; no intimate friends, self- 
willed ; a good swimmer ; to the University of Virginia at seven- 
teen; solitary and reserved; drank to excess and played cards; 
cut off by Mr. Allen. Enlisted in the U. S. A. at eighteen ; pro- 
moted to Sergeant Major; appointed to West Point through the 
kindness of Mr. Allen ; aptitude for mathematics ; gross contempt 
for military duties ; forces his dismissal from West Point, 1831 ; 
hard struggle with poverty; assistant editor of "Messenger," a 
monthly review ; married his cousin, Virginia Clemm, 1836 ; rec- 
ognized the genius of Hawthorne ; a victim to drink ; wrote the 
first detective story; to New York in 1844; suffered poverty and 
accepted public subscriptions ; wife died in 1847 ; a picturesque 
and striking lecturer; found in the last stages of delirium in 
Baltimore, where he died. An unfortunate genius. Morbid sensi- 
tiveness and brooding spirit; proud and imperious; lacked self- 
restraint. 

Works: 

Poetry: The Raven, The Bells, Ulalume, Israfel, To Helen, To 
Annie, The Conqueror Worm, The Haunted Palace, Annabel 
Lee, The City in the Sea. 

Prose: The Gold Bug, The Black Cat, Ligeia, The Fall of the 
House of Usher, the Murders of the Rue Morgue, The 
Mystery of Marie Roget, The Purloined Letter, William 
Wilson, The Tell-Tale Heart, Eleanora, A Descent into the 
Maelstrom, The Masque of the Red Death, Shadow — a Para- 
ble, The Pit and the Pendulum, etc. 

Criticism : The Poetic Principle, The Rationale of Verse, The 
Philosophy of Composition. 
Criticism : 

A harsh and fearless critic ; unfair and biased ; stories have unity 



50 



of conception, adroit perspective, and just proportion; gro- 
tesque and arabesque ; invention, imagination, mastery of the 
weird and the mysterious ; sustained interest, variety, plausi- 
bility, vigorous logic; master of the technic of verse; lilting 
rhythm, intricate rhyme, artful repetition, and aptly chosen 
refrains; melodious; lingering grace and fascination of glow 
with intangible fantasy ; they — his verses — convey no moral ; 
they celebrate beauty only ; beauty immaterial and evanescent. 

Biographies : 

George E. Woodberry's "Life of Poe." 
Andrew Lang's "Letters to Dead Authors.' 

Plots: 

l.The Gold Bug: 

William Legrand lived on Sullivan's Island, near Charlestown, 
S. C. He was a well-educated but moody person, living in isolation 
with a negro-servant, called Jupiter. One day he found a scarabaeus, 
which threw him into a fit of enthusiasm. It was a gold-bug. On 
meeting me, he made a rough sketch of the bug' which looked to all 
appearances like a death's-head. Jupiter later informed me of Le- 
grand's peculiar behavior since the finding of the bug — his figuring, 
ordering spades and scythes, and escapades. I am invited by Legrand 
to join him on an expedition into the hills, evidently on a fool's errand. 
We travelled through wild and desolate tracts, Legrand carrying the 
bug at the end of a bit of whip-cord. We finally stopped 
near a particular tree, and Legrand ordered Jupiter to climb up 
and make his way to the extreme end of a dead branch, at 
the tip of which a skull was attached. Then he commanded the ser- 
vant to pass the gold-bug through the left eye of the skull, and to 
keep a fast hold of the string. Where the bug pointed, Legrand drove 
a peg into the ground. Then' making painful measurements with a 
tape-measure, we were ordered to begin to dig. We were amazed 
at the strange behavior of Legrand, but got to work. After working 
for some time, and having dug five feet into the earth, Legrand was 
sorely and frantically disappointed. Suddenly he turned upon Jupiter, 
and discovered that the darky mistook his right eye from his left, and 
had failed to drop the bug through the left eye of the skull. Jupiter 
climbed again, and this time corrected himself. Legrand now meas- 
ured over again, and back to digging we went. Irj a few seconds, 
buttons, and finally gold coins appeared. Then an oblong chest of 
wood, buried snugly in the earth, made its appearance. We were 
stupified by the blinding glitter of wealth that lay before us — diamonds, 
rubies, emeralds, ornaments, and a galaxy of other precious articles 
were packed in the chest. Legrand was a picture of victory and 
triumph. He referred me to the sketch he had made on our first 
meeting of the bug and to my suggestion of a death's head or skull. 
It was that that made him think and that gave him the inspiration. 
The sketch was unconsciously made on a piece of parchment which 
Legrand later applied to the heat. The scrap of parchment had been 
found near the remnants of a hull of a ship's long-boat. By making 
ingenious connections, Legrand then discovered over the fire of his 
hearth certain water-marks in the parchment. By degrees he worked 



51 



out the idea of Captain Kidd and the whereabouts of that famous 
pirate's treasure. After indefatigable application, Legrand unriddled 
the letters, dots, and signs to read as follows: "A good glass in the 
bishop's hostel in the devil's seat — 41 degrees and 13 minutes — north- 
east and by north — main branch seventh limb east side — shoot from 
the left eye of the death's-head — a bee-line from the tree through the 
shot 50 feet out." It was, therefore, the Gold Bug that started the 
whole line of action, and which eventually led to the finding of Cap- 
tain Kidd's famous treasure. 

2. The Purloined Letter: 

Monsieur G — , the Prefect of the Parisian police, calls upon C. 
Auguste Dupin at the latter's little back library to obtain some help 
in the solution of a puzzling mystery. A certain document — a letter — 
of the greatest importance, has been purloined from the royal apart- 
ments. Minister D — , the thief, has thus jeopardized the honor and 
peace of the noble lady from whom he cleverly stole the paper. The 
mere possession of this letter has given Minister D — an ascendency 
over the illustrious personage. By placing an exact counterfeit of the 
original document next to the genuine one, the thief was enabled to 
decamp safely. The prefect tells of his thorough search of the Minis- 
ter's apartment and belongings ; of the ingenious methods adopted to 
trace the paper; of the re-examination; of the great reward offered' 
and of the failure to find the missive. Dupin maintains that the prob- 
lem is a simple one, and that the mistake made was that an exceed- 
ingly obvious solution had been obscured by an over-sedulous applica- 
tion. He dumbfounds his hearers by presenting the very letter in 
question. This happens about a month after the first visit of the 
Prefect. Dupin wins half of the reward, and describes the steps he 
had taken in tracing the document. First, he knew the character of 
the man with whom he had to deal • secondly, he realized that this 
particular thief would not follow the conventional modes of hiding 
things; but, that, on the contrary, he would choose the most obvious 
place, because the most obvious is usually the most mystifying ; as, for 
example, a man seeking the hat he is wearing. Acting along these 
lines, Dupin had called on the .Minister and spied the letter lying 
carelessly in a paste-board card rack. Coming again, Dupin, by meaxs 
of a ruse — the firing of a pistol by a "lunatic" (hired by Dupin), dis- 
tracted the Minister's attention to the window, while Dupin quickly 
substituted a counterfeit letter for the real one in the rack, and then 
calmly left the Minister's presence. 

3. The Fall of the House of Usher: 

Having been invited to call, I arrived at the gloomy and bleak 
walls of the house of Roderick Ushei. The proprietor was of a highly 
sensitive temperament, and the house, with its sombre tapestries and 
antique furniture seemed to be in harmony with its owner's morose 
disposition. He was a man who was apparently tired, languid, slow, 
and nervous. FEAR seemed to hover about him. His sister, the lady 
Madeline, was suffering from a malady that was slpwly wearing her 
away, and her decease was momentarily expected. During my so- 
journ, the melancholy Roderick and I painted and read together. 
Usher was an expert in painting ideas upon the canvass. The verses 



52 



of "The Haunted Palace" accompanying a string instrument, pleased 
both my host and myself. The books we read were in keeping with 
this character of phantasm. Usher suddenly announced the death of 
the lady Madeline and bade me assist him in preserving the corpse 
for a fortnight. We carried her into a hidden, damp, and dark vault, 
sheathed with copper. We gaze for a moment upon the bosom and 
the face. From that day Usher terrified me by his strange and mad- 
like behavior. On the night of the eighth day, I was tortured by hor- 
rible thoughts, and an irrespressible tremor pervaded my frame. Peer- 
ing earnestly into the intense darkness of the chamber, I heard in- 
definite sounds. It was Usher. He looked cadaverously wan, and ap- 
peared madly hilarious. He threw open a casement, and dense, rush- 
ing clouds drifted by. I tried to divert him by reading a favorite ro- 
mance. At one time during the reading, we were startled by a crack- 
ing and ripping sound in the House. Again we heard an unusual 
screaming or grating sound. My companion turned with his face 
to the door ; his head had dropped upon his breast. The strange simi- 
larity of the tale I was reading with the events occurring about me' 
unnerved us. A metallic and clangorous crash suddenly reverberated 
through the hollow chambers. I touched my friend. A sickly smile, 
played over his lips as he began to speak. Mad and hysterical, he 
shrieked, "We have put her living in the tomb ! I dared not speak ! 
I tell you that she now stands without the door!" The wild gust 
forced the portals open, and there stood, besmeared in blood, the en- 
shrouded figure of the lady Madeline of Usher. She trembled for a 
moment, and then fell inwards upon the person of her brother. Rod- 
erick Usher had joined his sister. I fled aghast from the mansion and 
in the wild, raging storm, beheld the mighty walls rushing asunder. 
The deep and dank tarn at my feet closed sullenly and silently over 
the fragments of the "House of Usher." 

4. The Pit and the Pendulum : 

The black-robed judges had me sent into the inky dungeon. I 
had swooned. I was sent down, down into the pitchy blackness' until 
I began to struggle for breath. I was a prisoner in Toledo, doomed 
to the inquisitorial horrors of the enemy. With difficulty, I contrived 
to measure the cell. The ground was moist and slippery, and was 
treacherous with slime. I discovered that I was at the very brink of 
a circular pit. I soon realized that I was doomed to a death with the 
most hideous moral horrors possible. I must have been drugged 
later, for I fell into an irresistible sleep. I now lay upon my 
back, securely bound by a long strap. My eyes were soon riveted upon 
a huge pendulum, that swept back and forth across the entire length 
of the dungeon. A crescent of glittering steel, as keen as the blade of 
a razor, hissed as it swung in the air. The rushing oscillations of the 
steel as it kept slowly descending, drove me frantically mad. Days 
passed. I was sick and weak. I hoped that the keen blade would cut 
my bonds, as it descended towards my heart ; but the bandages were 
not in the track of the knife. Hugh rats swarmed about me. I anointed 
my bandages with the oily fragments the rats had spared, and soon 
the ravaging throng rushed at my body with their sharp fangs. They 
finally did loosen the bonds — and I was free. But soon the walls of 



53 



the chamber began to close in upon me, and the breath of heated iron 
suffocated me, so that I was forced to the brink of the bottomless pit. 
I was just about to plunge into the yawning gulf, when the closing 
walls receded, and the hand of General Lasalle, of the victorious 
army, dragged me from my doom. 

5. Murders in the Rue Morgue: 

Dupin had a peculiar analytic ability. He could easily trace the 
course of my meditations. The extraordinary murders of Madame 
L'Espanaye and her daughter, Madamoiselle Camile L'Espanaye, and 
the baffled state of the Parisian police to solve this horrible crime' 
attracted the interest of my friend Dupin. The fearful spectacle pre- 
sented the apartment of the retired women in absolute disorder. The 
corpse of the daughter was dragged from the chimney, into which it 
had been forced, head downward. The mother was found, decapitated, 
in the small paved yard in the rear of the building. A bloody razor 
and thick tresses of gray human hair, dabbled with blood, added to 
the frightfulness of the mystery. Many witnesses were called in by 
the Prefect of the Police, all disagreeing as to the nationality of the 
person whose rough voice had been heard, crying, "mon Dieu !" 
Dupin then expressed his opinion that the over-zealous profundity of 
the Police led to their failure to solve the case. Dupin and I then 
visited the scene of the murders, and my friend carefully examined 
the premises from all sides. The next day Dupin dumbfounded me 
by quietly and indifferently telling me that he expected the chief per- 
son implicated in the crime to call in a short while, and that I hold the 
pistols ready for any emergency. He then entered into an analysis 
of the crime — the "harsh rather than shrill" voice; the means of 
egress ; the windows ; hidden springs ; the fractured nail ; the shutters ; 
the lightning-rod; the very extraordinary agility and brute-power of 
the murderer ; the abandoned gold ; the absence of motive ; the "no 
human hair;" indentation of finger nails. All these marks and clues, 
together with Cuvier's account of the large fulvous Ourang-Outang 
of the East Indian Islands, finally cleared the clouds of my astonish- 
ment, and I at last saw where Dupin had led me. It was then an 
Ourang-Outang that had committed the murders ! I was aghast when 
1 read Dupin's advertisement that he had caught the wild beast, and 
that its owner might call upon Dupin for the return of the animal. 
Dupin continued to tell of the greasy ribbon and the Maltese knot, 
and I saw through the whole puzzle. A heavy man entered, and 
Dupin forced him, at the points of our pistols, to tell of his ownership 
of the wild beast, of the Ourang-Outang's quarrel with his master, 
of the animal's escape, of the sailor's fruitless chase, of the brute's 
dash into the open window of the L'Espanaye bed-chamber, of the 
crazed animal's hideous attack, of his cry, "mon Dieu," and finally, of 
his own escape for safety. Thus the mystery was solved. 

6. Mystery of Marie Roget: 

Marie was a charming young lady of twenty-two, the daughter of 
a widow, Estelle Roget. She was employed by M. Le Blanc' in his 
perfumery, at which place Marie had received liberal proposals from 
both her employer and his customers. After a year at the perfumery, 
Marie had suddenly disappeared ; but, after the elapse of a week, re- 



54 



turned, much saddened. The affair was hushed. Again she disap- 
peared, and, after three days' absence, nothing was heard of her. On 
the fourth her corpse was found floating in the Seine. Rewards for 
the conviction of the assassin were liberally offered ; the general pub- 
lic was much excited by this atrocious crime. Dupin slept through 
the Prefect's humdrum recital of the facts, thus far educed by his 
office. St. Eustache, accepted suitor of Marie, was temporarily sus- 
pected. A Monsieur Beauvais, who identified the body as that of 
Marie Roget, and who, by his general concern and activity about the 
case, implicated himself in the crime, was likewise dismissed as in- 
nocent. L'Etoile, Le Commercial, Le Soleil, and Le Moniteur, Paris 
newspapers, differed in the main, in their anaylses and deductions of 
the murder. Dupin then entered into an earnest discussion- of the 
merits and weaknesses of the various assertions made by the above 
newspapers. He recognized with respect the many clues offered by 
the papers. He refuted the implications that the girl had been at- 
tacked by a gang instead of a single person; that Marie's body had 
not come to the surface until five or six days after the murder; that 
her belongings, found on the shore, among bushes violently shaken, 
and on earth much trampled upon, were found where they had' been 
originally deposited ; and that a blackguard would not have a pocket- 
handkerchief about him. These Dupin refuted, and ingeniously es- 
tablished their respective converses. He then suggested that M. 
Beauvais was no more than a romantic busy-body; and that St. Eus- 
tache, by his suicide, did not, in the least, deflect any of the arguments 
in favor of his innocence. Dupin believed that truth arises from the 
seemingly irrelevant, and that we must calculate upon the unforseen. 
The newspapers offered much that had been overlooked in the way 
of valuable evidence. Marie's peculiar behavior in her anxiety to meet 
the young lover, the object of her first escapade, was a clear step in 
the solution of the mystery, the 'strips torn off' likewise pointed to 
a single perpetrator of the deed ; the knot made was that which only 
a sailor knows how to make ; the latter's 'dark complexion' directed 
the evidence against the known seaman, stationed at Paris ; the boat 
found under the wharf, later without its rudder, corresponded with the 
expected activity of the assassin under the particular circumstances ; 
and' finally, there being no advertisement of the picking up of the 
boat, clearly indicated that navy connections of the assailant were 
manifestly assisting him in his attempt to escape detection. Seizure 
of the criminal, Dupin now concluded, was a simple matter. This the 
Prefect might as well handle. 



THE SKETCH BOOK (1820) 

Author : 

WASHINGTON IRVING. 

Born in New York City, April 3, 1783. Died at Sunnyside, 
Sleepy Hollow, November 28, 1859. Studied law, admitted to 



55 



bar, traveled in Europe. Visited the Mediterranean, Sicily, Ge- 
neva, Naples, Rome, Bordeaux, Switzerland, Netherlands, Paris, 
London and Spain. Received from Oxford the degree of LL.D. 
Bought Sunnyside, below Tarrytown, on the Hudson. Took a 
flying trip through the West. Essentially a traveler. First Ameri- 
can who frankly adopted literature as a calling. An attache of 
the American Legation in Madrid. Secretary to American Lega- 
tion at London. A historian and biographer. Cosmopolitan, an- 
tiquarian. A keen observer. 
Works : 

"Knickerbocker's History of New York," "Alhambra," "Life of 
Columbus," "Life of Washington," "Bracebridge Hall," 
"Tales of a Traveler," "Sketch Book," "Biography of Gold- 
smith." 
Style and Criticism: 

"Possessed of a broad and genial nature, a rich, poetic tem- 
perament, a fancy that was as nimble as it was sprightly, a facile 
and ornate power of vivid and graphic description, and a pure 
and graceful style that rivals that of Addison, he was the very 
prince of story-tellers and the most fascinating of fireside com- 
panions. Delicacy of touch, refined imagination, genial humor, 
inimitable drollery. The 'Sketch Book' covers a wide range of hu- 
manity, in a most varied form, fresh, bubbling over with humor 
that seems to have the inexhaustible spontaneity of a spring. 
Here drollery, grace, pathos, grandeur, in turn, touch the heart 
and move the fancy. A broad, genial atmosphere pervades it, 
fresh and open as the blue sky, in which its characters live, move, 
and have their being, drawn with a portraiture as real as life, 
and with a gentle satire that has no trace of bitterness." "The 
flavor of an older, quieter mood of mind gives them (Sketches) 
perennial charm. Reminiscent and reflective. We find here the 
narrative essay of travel or literary research, and the romantic 
tale in which the form of the narrative differs but little from the 
essay. The essay becomes narrative in form by the introduction 
of the author, who relates as personal experiences the observa- 
tions of the traveler. The narrative essay, in turn, becomes the 
tale by changes so slight, that the reader scarcely realizes where 
he lost sight of his guide, the story-teller." "I consider a story 
as the play of thought, and sentiment, and language. The weaving 
in of characters, lightly yet expressively delineated. The familiar 
and faithful exhibition of scenes of common life, and the half- 
concealed vein of humor that is often playing through the whole. 
These are among the points that I aim at." — Washington Irving. 
"No later American writer has surpassed him in charm. Sunshine 
liehts up every page, and cheerful kindliness glows upon them 
all." . " ' ' OTP] 

The Sketches 

I. The Author's Account of Himself: 

I was always fond of visiting new scenes, and observing strange 
characters and manners. I was astonished how vast a globe I in- 



56 



habited. Books of voyages and travels became my passion. I watched 
the parting ships. Never need an American look beyond his country 
for the sublime and beautiful of natural scenery, but Europe held 
forth the charms of storied and poetical association. I longed to lose 
myself among the shadowy grandeur of the past. I wanted to see the 
great men of the earth. I have wandered through different countries, 
and witnessed many of the shifting scenes of life. I traveled with a 
pencil in hand and brought home portfolios filled wfth sketches for 
the entertainment of my friends. 

II. The Voyage: 

The vast space of waters that separates the hemispheres is like 
a blank page in existence. All is vacancy. We can trace a land-journey 
back link by link, but a wide sea-voyage severs us at once. We are 
cast loose and sent adrift. I felt reluctant to leave all most dear to 
me in life. The dangers and vicissitudes of the sea loomed ominous. 
When would I revisit the scenes of my childhood? A sea voyage is 
full of subjects for meditation. My imagination would conjure up all 
that I had heard or read of the watery world beneath me. A distant 
sail would be another theme of idle speculation. How glorious a mo- 
ment it is to sail between sky and sea. How wonderful a monument 
of human invention is a transatlantic steamer. The sight of a wreck 
gave rise to pitiful and horrible conclusions and hair-raising anec- 
dotes. During storms every one had his tale of shipwreck and dis- 
aster. The captain's story : how his ship bore down one night during 
a heavy fog upon a srrtall fishing schooner and blotted out all life 
aboard. We had a storm that night and our ship staggered and 
plunged among the roaring caverns. The whistling of the winds, the 
straining and groaning of bulkheads, and the creaking of the masts 
were gruesome signals of the ship's struggle with Death. The next 
day was a fine and gladdening one. How the ship lorded over the 
deep ! The thrilling cry of "Land !" What a delicious throng of sensa- 
tions I felt ! Everything was now a feverish excitement. Through my 
telescope I noticed many characteristics of England,. The throng on 
the pier; the prosperous and happy merchant; the cheering anc£ salu- 
tations ; the pathetic meeting of the sick sailor and his terror-stricken 
wife. All was now hurry and bustle. I alone was solitary and idle. I 
was a stranger in a strange land., 

III. Rural Life in England: 

The stranger must go forth into the country. In England, the 
metropolis is a mere gathering-place, or a general rendezvous, of the 
polite classes, where they devote a small portion of the year to a hurry 
of gayety and dissipation, and, having indulged this kind of carnival, 
return again to the apparently more congenial habits of rural life. 
The English are strongly gifted with the rural feeling. Those who see 
the Englishman only in town are apt to form an unfavorable opinion 
of his social character. His look of hurry and abstraction. Selfish and 
uninteresting. In the country he breaks loose gladly from the cold 
formalities and negative civilities of town, throws off his habits of 
shy reserve, and becomes joyous and free-hearted. The taste of the 
English in the cultivation of land, and in what is called landscape- 
gardening, is unrivalled. Nothing can be more imposing than the 



57 



magnificence oi English park scenery : vast lawns, solemn pomp of 
groves, woodland glades, herds of deer, sequestered pools. The rudest 
habitation in the hands of an Englishman of taste, becomes a little 
paradise. The country has diffused a degree of taste and elegance in 
rural economy that descends to the lowest class. If ever Love, as poets 
sing, delights to visit a cottage, it must be the cottage of an English 
peasant. The fondness for rural life among the higher classes of the 
English has had a great and salutary effect upon the national char- 
acter. The English gentleman possesses an elegance and strength, a 
robustness of frame, and a freshness of complexion. This fondness for 
rural life has banded the extremes of society together. There is noth- 
ing mean and debasing in rural occupation. This rural feeling runs 
through British literature. England is studded and gemmed, as it 
were, with castles and palaces, and embroidered with parks and gar- 
dens. We have little home-scenes of rural repose and sheltered quiet. 
The eye is delighted by a continual succession of small landscapes of 
captivating loveliness. The great charm of English scenery is the 
moral feeling that seems to pervade it. It is associated in the mind 
with ideas of order, of quiet, of sober, well-established principles, of 
hoary usages and reverent custom. The sweet home-feeling, the settled 
repose of affection in the domestic scene is the parent of all virtues. 

IV. The Country Church: 

There are few places more favorable to the study of character 
than an English country church : its monuments, stained glass, and 
tombs of knights. A congregation is composed of the neighboring of 
rank and of the villagers and peasantry. The service is performed by a 
snuffling, well-fed vicar, who is a privileged guest at all tables. A 
noble family, simple and unassuming in their appearance, came to 
church in the plainest equipage, spoke to all the peasants kindly and 
were very democratic. They were dressed fashionably, but simply. 
Their whole demeanor was easy and natural. In contrast was the 
family of a wealthy citizen, who had amassed a vast fortune. They 
were endeavoring to assume all the style and dignity of an hereditary 
lord. They were rolled majestically along in a carriage emblazoned 
with arms. The fat coachman, the sleek Danish dog, the two footmen 
in gorgeous liveries, the pompous air of the man. His wife seemed to 
possess but little pride in her composition. She was the picture of 
broad, honest, vulgar enjoyment. The supercilious air of the two 
daughters. Their ultra-fashionable dress. They cast an exclusive glance 
around, and passed coldly on. The two sons were pretentious in ap- 
pearance. They were vulgarly shaped, and moved artificially with a 
supercilious assumption about them. I enjoyed this picture of the un- 
pretending great, and the arrogant little. The very highest classes are 
always the most courteous and unassuming. Nothing is so offensive 
as the aspirings of vulgarity, which thinks to elevate itself by humil- 
iating its neighbor. The nobleman's family was quiet, serious, and 
attentive. The others were in a perpetual flutter and whisper. They be- 
trayed a continual consciousness of finery. The old gentleman uttered 
the responses with a loud voice that he might be heard all over the 
church. The nobleman's family strolled home, crossing the fields, and 
chatting with the country people as they went. The others departed - 



58 



as they came, in grand parade, with the smacking of whips, clattering 
of hoofs, and the glittering of harness. 

V. The Widow and Her Son : 

I think I am a better man on Sunday than on any other day of 
the seven. The shadowy aisles, the mouldering monuments, the dark 
oaken paneling, and the religious gloom of the old village church 
seemed fit surroundings for solemn meditation. A poor decrepit old 
woman, bending under the weight of years and infirmities, was the 
only being in the whole congregation who attracted me. I loitered 
into the graveyard, where the son of this unfortunate woman was 
being buried. They were the obsequies of poverty, with which pride 
had nothing to do. The sexton walked before with an air of cold indif- 
ference. The service was a mere act of charity. It was shuffled through, 
therefore, in form, but coldly and unfeelingly. Directions were given 
in the cold tones of business. The aged woman broke into an agony of 
grief. She could not be comforted. I could see no more — my heart 
swelled into my throat — my eyes filled with tears. This was the bar- 
barous way of burying "George Somers, aged 26 years." The sorrows 
of a widow, aged, solitary, destitute, mourning over an only son, the 
last solace of her years : these are indeed sorrows which make us feel 
the impotency of consolation. This son, George, had been entrapped 
by a press-gang, and carried off to sea. He had been the main prop of 
support. The father soon sank into his grave. The widow lives solitary 
and almost helpless. George returned after many years, emaciated 
and ghastly pale, and bore the air of one broken by sickness and hard- 
ships. He had dragged his wasted limbs homeward, to repose among 
the scenes of his childhood. He stretched himself on the pallet on 
which his widowed mother had passed many a sleepless night, and 
he never rose from it again. Oh ! there is an enduring tenderness in 
the love of a mother to her son that transcends all other affections of 
the_ heart. She would sit for hours by his bed, watching him as he 
slept. The next Sunday I saw the poor old woman tottering down the 
aisle to her accustomed seat on the steps of the altar. She was mourn- 
ing for her son. She was a living monument of real grief. I later heard 
that she, too, soon quietly breathed her last. 

VI. Christmas : 

Nothing in England exercises a more delightful spell over my 
imagination than the lingerings of the holiday customs and rural 
games of former times. Of all the old festivals, however, that of 
Christmas awakens the strongest and most heartfelt associations. 
There is a tone of solemn and sacred feeling that blends with our con- 
viviality, and lifts the spirit to a state of hallowed and elevated enjoy- 
ment. This festival, which commemorates the announcement of the 
religion of peace and love, has been made the season for gathering 
together of family connections. We feel more sensibly the charm of 
each other's society, and are brought more closely together by de- 
pendence on each other for enjoyment. Heart calleth unto heart. The 
pitchy gloom without makes the heart dilate on entering the room 
filled with the glow and warmth of the evening fire. The world has 
become more worldly. There is more of dissipation, and less of enjoy- 
ment. Pleasure has expanded into a broader, but a shallower stream, 



59 



and has forsaken many of those deep and quiet channels where it 
flowed sweetly through the calm bosom of domestic life. Society has 
acquired a more enlightened and elegant tone, but it has lost many 
of its strong local peculiarities, its home-bred feelings, its honest fire- 
side delights. Shorn, however, as it is, of its ancient and festive hon- 
ors, Christmas is still a period of delightful excitement in England. 
The scene of early love again rises green to memory beyond the sterile 
waste of years. I feel the influence of the season beaming into my 
soul from the happy looks of those around me. 

VII. The Stage-Coach: 

I had three fine rosy-cheeked boys for my fellow-passengers in- 
side, full of the buxom health and manly spirit. I heard the gigantic 
plans of the little rogues. They were full of anticipation. The more 
than ordinary air of bustle and importance of the coachman, who 
wore his hat a little on one side, and had a large bunch of Christmas 
greens stuck in the button-hole of his coat. He is always a person- 
age full of mighty care and business. The coachman has a dress, a 
manner, a language, an air, peculiar to himself. He has commonly a 
broad, full face curiously mottled with red, as if the blood had been 
forced by hard feeding into every vessel of the skin. He is swelled into 
jolly dimensions by frequent potations of malt liquors, and his bulk 
is still further increased by a multiplicity of coats, in which he is 
buried like a cauliflower, the upper one reaching to his heels. He 
wears a broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat,* a huge roll of colored 
handkerchief about his neck, knowingly knotted and tucked in at the 
bosom, and has in summer-time a large bouquet of flowers in his 
button-hale. His waistcoat is commonly of some bright color, striped, 
and his small-clothes extend far below the knees, to meet a pair of 
jockey-boots which reach about half-Way up his legs. He enjoys 
great consequence and consideration along the road. He is generally 
surrounded by an admiring throng of hostlers, stable-boys, shoe- 
blacks, and those nameless hangers-on, that infest inns and taverns. 
A stage-coach, however, carries animation always with it and puts the 
world in motion as it whirls along. The horn, sounded at the en- 
trance of a village produces a general bustle. The coachman has a 
world of small commissions to execute. The impending holiday might 
have given a more than usual animation to the country, for it seemed 
to be as if everybody was in good looks and in good spirit. Great is 
the contention of holly and ivy, whether master or dame wears the 
breeches. I was pleased to see the fondness with which the little fel- 
lows leaped about the steady old footman, and hugged their dear dog. 
I leaned out of the coach-window, in hopes of witnessing the happy 
meeting, but a grove of trees shut it from my sight. I entered, and 
admired, for the hundredth time, that picture of convenience, neat- 
ness, and broad, honest enjoyment, the kitchen of an English inn. I 
met my friend, Frank Braceridge, a sprightly, good-humored young 
fellow, with whom I had once traveled on the Continent. He insisted 
that I should give him a day or two at his father's country-seat. 

VIII. Christmas Eve: 

Squire Bracebridge is a strenuous advocate for the revival of the 
old rural gfames and holiday observances. A little primitive dame. 



60 



courtesying to us, led us through a magnificent gate of the old heavy 
style. The Squire always consulted old books for precedent and au- 
thority for every "merrie disport/' We are interrupted by the clamor 
of a troop of dogs of all sorts and sizes, "mongrel, puppy, whelp, and 
hound, and curs of low degree. " A great deal of revelry was permitted, 
and even encouraged by the Squire, throughout the twelve days of 
Christmas, provided everything was done conformably to ancient 
usage. The Squire was a fine healthy-looking old gentleman with sil- 
ver hair curling lightly around an open florid countenance. The fur- 
niture was of the cumbrous workmanship of former days. It was 
really delightful to see the old Squire seated in his hereditary elbow- 
chair, by the hospitable fireside of his ancestors, and looking around 
him like the sun of a system, beaming warmth and gladness to every 
heart. I found myself as much at home as if I had been one of the 
family. The table was abundantly spread with substantial fare. I was 
happy to find my old friend, minced-pie, in the retinue of the feast. 
Master Simon was evidently the wit of the family, dealing very much 
in sly jokes and innuendos with the ladies, and making infinite merri- 
ment by harping upon old themes. He could imitate Punch and Judy. 
Frank Bracebridge was an old bachelor, of a small independent in- 
come, which was sufficient for all his wants. He had a chirping, buoy- 
ant disposition, always enjoying the present moment. An old harper 
was summoned from the servants' hall. A young minstrel sang songs 
of merriment. The dying embers of the Yule log still sent forth a 
dusky glow. I had scarcely got into bed when a strain of music 
seemed to break forth into the air just below the window. They were 
the waits from some neighboring village. As they were playing under 
the window, I fell asleep. 

IX. Christmas Day: 

While I lay musing on my pillow, I heard the sound of little feet 
pattering- outside of the door, and a whispering consultation. I rose 
softly, slipt on my clothes, opened the door suddenly, and beheld one 
of the most beautiful little fairy groups that a painter could imagine. 
Everything conspired to produce kind and happy feelings in this 
stronghold of old-fashioned hospitality. I had scarcely dressed myself, 
when a servant appeared to invite me to family prayer. The service 
was followed by a Christmas carol, which Mr. Bracebridge himself had 
constructed from a poem of his favorite author, Herrick, and it had 
been adapted to an old church-melody by Master Simon. Our breakfast 
consisted of what the Squire denominated true old English fare. After 
breakfast I walked about the grounds with Frank Bracebridge. The old 
mansion had a still more venerable look in the yellow sunshine than 
by pale moonlight : an air of proud aristocracy. Unusual number of 
peacocks about the place, but I found that the peacocks were birds of 
some consequence at the hall. There was something extremely agree- 
able in the cheerful flow of animal spirits of the little man, Master 
Simon, and I confess I had been somewhat surprised at his apt quo- 
tation from authors who certainly were not in the range of every-day 
reading. As the church is destitute of an organ, Master Simon has 
formed a band from the village amateurs, and established a musical 
club for their improvement. Most of the family walked to the church, 



61 



which was a very old building of gray stone. The parson was a little, 
meagre, black-looking man, with a grizzled wig that was too wide, and 
stood off from each ear, so that his head seemed to have shrunk away 
within it. The parson had been a chum of the Squire's at Oxford. He 
had made diligent investigations into the festive rites and holiday cus- 
toms of former times. He had pored over these old volumes so in- 
tensely that they seemed to have been reflected in his countenance. 
We found the parson rebuking the gray-headed sexton for having used 
mistletoe among the greens with which the church was decorated. The 
interior of the church was venerable but simple. During service, Master 
Simon stood up in the pew, and repeated the responses very audibly. 
The orchestra was in a small gallery and presented a most whimsical 
grouping of heads, piled one above the other. The musicians became 
flurried and everything went on lamely and irregularly. The parson 
gave us a most erudite sermon on the rites and ceremonies of Christ- 
mas, and the propriety of observing it not merely as a day of thanks- 
giving, but of rejoicing. The pages of old times were to the parson as 
the gazettes of the present day. The congregation seemed one and all 
possessed with the gayety of spirit so earnestly enjoyed by their pas- 
tor. The villagers doffed their hats to the Squire as he passed, giving 
him the good wishes of the season with every appearance of heartfelt 
sincerity, and were invited by him to the hall. On our way homeward 
the Squire's heart seemed overflowed with generous and happy feel- 
ings. The Squire deplored the decay of the games and amusements 
which were once prevalent at this season among the lower orders, and 
countenanced by the higher. "The nation," continued he, "is altered : 
we have almost lost our simple true-hearted peasantry." The peasantry 
called at the hall on Christmas day, were given beef, bread, and ale, so 
that they might make merry in their own dwellings. A band of country 
lads, without coats, danced, played, and made merry in honor and 
respect to the Squire. This was a lineal descendant of the sword-dance 
of the ancients. After the dance, the whole party was entertained in 
the hall. The whole house seemed abandoned to merriment. A co- 
quettish housemaid danced a jig, while the other servants merrily 
looked on. 

X. The Christmas Dinner: 

A rolling-pin, struck upon the dresser by the cook, summoned the 
servants to carry in the meats. The dinner was served in the great 
hall where the Squire always held his Christmas banquet. A blazing 
crackling fire of logs had been heaped on to warm the spacious apart- 
ment, and the flame went sparkling and wreathing up the wide- 
mouthed chimney. We were ushered into this banqueting scene with 
the sound of minstrelsy, the old harper being seated on a stool beside 
the fireplace, and twanging his instrument with a vast deal more 
power than melody. The parson said grace, which was a long, courtly, 
well-worded one of the ancient school. An enormous pig's head, deco- 
rated with rosemary, with a lemon in its mouth, was placed with great 
formality at the head of the table. This was meant to represent the 
bringing in of the boar's head. The table was literally loaded with 
good cheer and presented an epitome of country abundance, in this 
season of overflowing larders. A pie magnificentlv decorated with- 

63 



peacock's feathers was very noticeable. I was amused, too, at the air 
of profound gravity with which the butler and other servants executed 
the duties assigned them, however eccentric. The Wassail Bowl, so 
renowned in Christmas festivity, delighted everyone, for, it was "the 
ancient fountain of good feeling, where all hearts met together." Much 
of the conversation during dinner turned upon family topics, to which 
I was a stranger. The dinner-time passed away in this glow of inno- 
cent hilarity, and, though the old hall may have resounded in its time 
with many a scene of broader rout and revel, yet I doubt whether it 
ever witnessed more honest and genuine enjoyment. Honest good- 
humor is the oil and wine of a merry meeting. The Squire told several 
long stories of early college pranks and adventures^ in some of which 
the parson had been a sharer. The company grew merrier and louder 
as their jokes grew duller. The hall was later given up to the younger 
members of the family who soon were playing romping games. When I 
returned to the drawing-room, I found the company seated around the 
fire, listening to the parson, who was dealing out strange accounts of 
the popular superstiffbns and legends of the surrounding country. The 
story concerning the effigy of the crusader was a very interesting one. 
The crusader appeared to be the favorite hero of ghost-stories through- 
out the vicinity. The Squire listened to every goblin-tale of the neigh- 
boring gossips with infinite gravity. A burlesque imitation of an an- 
tique mask called "Ancient Christmas" was soon presented. There was 
"Dame Mince Pie" in all of his venerable magnificence. Likewise, 
Robin Hood, Roast Beef, Plum Pudding and the like in the proces- 
sion. Master Simon covered himself with glory as Ancient Christmas. 
The worthy Squire contemplated these fantastic sports, and this resur- 
rection of his own wardrobe, with the simple relish of childish de- 
light. There was a quaintness, too, mingled with all this revelry. 

XI. Little Britain: 

In the center of the great city of London lies a small neighbor- 
hood, consisting of a cluster of narrow streets and courts, of very 
venerable and debilitated houses, which goes by the name of Little 
Britain. This quarter derives its appellation from having been, in 
ancient times, the residence of the Dukes of Brittany. Little Britain 
became the great mart of learning, and was peopled by the busy and 
prolific race of booksellers. These gradually deserted it. Little Britain 
still bears traces of its former splendor. It may truly be called-the 
heart's core of the city, the stronghold of true John Bullism. The in- 
habitants most religiously eat pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, hot-cross- 
buns on Good Friday, and roast, goose at Michaelmas. They send love- 
letters on Valentine's Day, burn the pope on the fifth of November, 
and kiss all the girls under the mistletoe at Christmas. Roast beef and 
plum-pudding are also held in superstitious veneration. The great bell 
of St. Paul's is said to sour all the beer when it tolls. There is a great 
deal of fortune-telling, ghost-stories, and other city wonders in Little 
Britain. One of the sages and great men of Little Britain was a tall, 
dry old gentleman, of the name of Skryme, who keeps a small apothe- 
cary's shop. He has a cadaverous countenance, full of cavities and 
projections, with a brown circle round each eye like a pair of horned 
spectacles. He is a great reader of almanacs and newspapers, and is 



63 



much given to pore over alarming accounts of plots, conspiracies, fires, 
earthquakes, and volcanic eruptions. The rival oracle of Little Britain 
is a substantial cheese-monger. His head is stored with invaluable 
maxims which have borne the test of time and use for centuries. There 
are two rival Burial Societies in Little Britain, one of which held 
its meeting at the Swan and Horse Shoe, and was patronized by the 
cheese-monger. The other at the Cock and Crown, under the auspices 
of the apothecary. It is needless to say that the latter was the more 
flourishing. There is also a club which goes by the name of "The 
Roaring Lads of Little Britain," and which has the prime wit of Little 
Britain, bully Wagstaff . At the opening of every club-night he is called 
in to sing his "Confession of Faith," which is the famous old drinking- 
trowl. It would do one's heart good to hear, on a club-night, the shouts 
of merriment, the snatches of song, and the choral bursts of half a 
dozen discordant voices. There are two annual events which produce 
great stir and sensation in Little Britain. These are St. Bartholomew's 
fair, and the Lord Mayor's day. Every tavern is a scene of rout and 
revelry. The fiddle and the song are heard from the tap-room, morning, 
noon, and night. The Lord Mayor is looked up to by the inhabitants of 
Little Britain as the greatest potentate upon earth. His gilt coach with 
six horses is the summit of human splendor. Once a year also the 
neighbors would gather together, and go on a gypsy party to Epping 
Forest. How they made the woods ring with bursts of laughter at the 
songs of little Wagstaff and the merry undertaker! The family of the 
Lambs had long been among the most thriving and popular in the 
neighborhood. The family was soon smitten with a passion for high 
life. What was still worse, the Lambs gave a grand ball, to which they 
neglected to invite any of their old neighbors. This dance was a cause 
of almost open war, and the whole neighborhood declared they would 
have nothing more to say to the Lambs. The only one of the family 
that could not be made fashionable was the retired butcher himself, 
fie was a rough, hearty old fellow, with the voice of a lion, a head of 
black hair like a shoe brush, and a broad face mottled like his own 
beef. He was doomed, however, to share the unpopularity of his family, 
but unluckily a rival power arose. When the Lambs appeared with two 
feathers on their hats, the Miss Trotters mounted four, and of twice 
as fine colors. The whole community at length divided itself into 
fashionable factions, under the banners of these two families. Thus is 
this little territory torn by factions and internal dissensions. I stand 
in high favor with both parties, and have to hear all their cabinet 
councils and mutual backbitings. 

XII. A Sunday in London: 

The intolerable din and struggle of the week are at an end. The 
shops are shut, and the sun, no longer obscured by murky clouds 
of smoke, pours down a sober, yellow radiance into the quiet streets. 
And now the melodious clangor of bells from church-towers summons 
their several flocks to the fold. For a time everything is hushed, but 
soon is heard the deep, pervading sound of the organ, rolling and 
vibrating through empty lanes and courts, and the sweet chanting of 
the choir making them resound with melody and praise. The morning 
service is at an end. The streets are again alive with the congregations 



64 



returning to their homes, but soon again relapse into silence. Now 
comes the Sunday dinner. There is more leisure for social enjoyment 
at the board. On Sunday afternoon the city pours forth its legions to 
breathe the fresh air and enjoy the sunshine of the parks and rural 
environs. 

XIII. The Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap. 

Every writer considers it his bounden duty to light up some por- 
tion of Shakespeare's character or works, and to rescue some merit 
from oblivion. I thought it but proper to contribute my mite of hom- 
age to the memory of the illustrious bard. I casually opened upon the 
comic scenes of "Henry IV," and was, in a moment, completely lost 
in the madcap revelry of the Boar's Head Tavern. I would not give up 
fat Jack for half the great men of ancient chronicle, but,, old Jack 
Falstaff ! — sweet Jack Falstaff ! — has enlarged the boundaries of human 
enjoyment. I will make a pilgrimage to Eastchap, and see if the old 
Boar's Head Tavern still exists. Alas ! How sadly is the scene changed 
since the roaring days of Falstaff! I sought, in vain, for the ancient 
abode of good Dame Quickly. The only relic of it is a boar's head, 
carved in relief in stone, which formerly served as the sign. A tallow- 
chandler's widow showed me around. She possessed the simplicity of 
true wisdom. The tavern had been turned into shops. She informed me 
that a picture of it was still preserved in St. Michael's Church, which 
stood just in the rear. This church is enriched with the tombs of many 
fish-mongers of renown. William Walworth, knight, doughty cham- 
pion, lay buried here. Likewise the tombstone of Robert Preston, 
drawer at the tavern, was also found here. They say that the ghost of 
honest Preston made its sudden appearance in the midst of a roaring 
club. The sexton offered to show me the choice vessels of the vestry, 
which had been handed down from remote times, when the parish 
meetings were held at the Boar's Head. We went to this house, bear- 
ing the title of "The Mason's Arms." There was something primitive 
about the kitchen, parlor, and hall that carried me back to earlier 
times, and pleased me. Dame Honeyball hurried up-stairs to the 
archives of her house, where the precious vessels of the parish club 
were deposited. On a japanned iron tobacco-box, of gigantic size, out 
of which, I was told, the vestry had smoked at their stated meetings, 
was displayed the outside of the Boar's Head Tavern, and before the 
door was to be seen the whole convivial group, at table in full revel. 
Dame Honeyball then put in my hands a drinking-cup or goblet, which 
also belonged to the vestry and was descended from the old Boar's 
Head. This could be no other than the identical "parcel-gilt goblet" 
on which Falstaff made his loving but faithless vow to Dame Quickly. 
I was soon full of thoughts and meditation, and forgot that I was 
keeping my friend, the Sexton, from his dinner. My bowels yearned 
with sympathy, and, putting in his hand a small token of my gratitude, 
I departed. 

XIV. Westminster Abbey: 

It seemed like stepping back into the regions of antiquity, and 
losing myself among the shades of former ages. It prepares the mind 
for its solemn contemplation. Everything bears marks of the gradual 
dilapidations of time. There were effigies of three of the early abbots 



65 



The epitaphs were entirely effaced. The names alone remained, having 
no doubt been renewed in later times. The futility of that pride that still 
hopes to exact homage in its ashes, and to live in an inscription. The 
magnitude of the building breaks fully upon the mind. Clustered col- 
umns of gigantic dimensions, with arches springing from them to 
such an amazing height. The spaciousness and gloom of this vast 
edifice produce a profound and mysterious awe. It seems as if the 
awful nature of the place presses down upon the soul, and hushes the 
beholder into noiseless reverence, and yet it almost provokes a smile 
at the vanity of human ambition, to see how the dead are crowded to- 
gether and jostled in the dust. I passed some time in Poet's Corner. 
Shakespeare and Addison have statues erected to their memories, but 
the greater part have busts, medallions, and sometimes mere inscrip- 
tions. At every turn I met with some illustrious name, or the cogniz- 
ance of some powerful house renowned in history. I then passed the 
effigy of a knight in complete armor. It was that of a Crusader. There 
is something extremely picturesque and solemn in those effigies on 
Gothic tombs, extended as if in the sleep of death. In the opposite tran- 
sept to Poet's Corner stands the tomb of Mrs. Nightingale. The bottom 
of the monument is represented as throwing open its marble doors, and 
a sheeted skeleton is starting forth. The whole is executed with terrible 
truth and spirit. The grave should be surrounded by everything that 
might inspire tenderness and veneration for the dead. The sound of 
existence from without occasionally reaches the ear. I then stood 
before the entrance to Henry the Seventh's chapel. On entering this 
most gorgeous of sepulchres, the eye is astonished by the pomp of 
architecture, and the elaborate beauty of sculptured detail. Around 
the sides are the lofty stalls of the Knights of the Bath. There is a sad 
dreariness in this magnificence : this strange mixture of tombs and 
trophies ; these emblems of living and aspiring ambition, close behind 
mementos which show the dust and oblivion in which all must sooner 
or later terminate. My imagination conjured up the scene when this 
hall was bright with the valor and beauty of the land. Opposite the 
sepulchre of the haughty Elizabeth is that of her victim, the sweet 
and unfortunate Mary. I could only hear now and then, the distant 
voice of the priest repeating the evening service, and the faint re- 
sponses of the choir. Suddenly the notes of the deep-laboring organ 
burst upon the ear, falling with doubled and redoubled intensity, and 
rolling, as it were, huge billows of sound. How well do their grandeur 
and volume accord with this mighty building! With what pomp do 
they swell through its vast vaults, and breathe their awful harmony 
through these caves of death, and make the silent sepulchre vocal !— 
and now they pause, and soft voices of the choir break out into sweet 
gushes of melody. They soar aloft, and warble along the roof, and seem 
to play about these lofty vaults like the pure airs of heaven. Again the 
pealing organ leaves its thrilling thunders, compressing air into music, 
and rolling it forth upon the soul. What long-drawn cadences ! What 
solemn sweeping concords ! It grows more and more dense and power- 
ful — it fills the vast pile, and seems to jar the very walls — the ear is 
stunned — the senses are overwhelmed, and now it is winding up in 
full jubilee — it is rising from the earth to heaven — the very soul seems 
rapt away and floated upwards on this swelling tide of harmony! As 



66 



I descended, my eye was caught by the. shrine of Edward the Confes- 
sor. The shrine is elevated upon a kind of platform. How soon that 
crown which encircles its brow must pass away, and it must lie down 
in the dust and disgraces of the tomb, and be trampled upon by the 
feet of the meanest of the multitude. Not a royal monument but bears 
some proof how false and fugitive is the homage of mankind. The 
effigies of the kings faded into shadows. The marble figures of the 
monuments assumed strange shapes in the uncertain light. Names, 
inscriptions, trophies, had all become confounded in my recollection, 
though I had scarcely taken my feet off the threshold. How idle a boast, 
after all, is the immortality of a name. Time is ever silently turning 
over his pages. We are too much engrossed by the story of the present, 
to think of the characters and anecdotes that gave interest to the past, 
and each age is a volume thrown aside to be speedily forgotten. Thus 
man passes away. His name perishes from record and recollection. His 
history is a tale that is told, and his very monument becomes a ruin. 

XV. The Mutability of Literature: 

There are certain half-dreaming moods of mind* in which we 
naturally steal away from noise and glare, and seek some quiet haunt, 
where we may indulge our reveries and build our air-castles undis- 
turbed. We now ascended a dark, narrow staircase, and, passing 
through a second door, entered the library. Around the hall and in a 
small gallery were the books, arranged in carved oaken cases. They 
consisted principally of old polemical writers, and were much more 
worn by time than use. The place seemed fitted for quiet study and 
profound meditation. It was buried deep among the massive walls of 
the abbey, and shut up from the tumult of the world. Instead of read- 
ing, however, I was beguiled by the solemn monastic air, arid lifeless 
quiet of the place, into a strain of musing. I could not but consider the 
library a kind of literary catacomb, where authors, like mummies, are 
piously entombed, and left to blacken and moulder in dusty oblivion. 
How much, thought I, has each of these volumes now thrust aside with 
such indifference, cost some aching head ! And all for what? To occupy 
an inch of dusty shelf. . . A little book gave two or three yawns, like 
one awakening from a deep sleep. Then a husky hem, and at length 
began to talk. It railed about the neglect of the world — about merit 
being suffered to languish in obscurity; that it had not been opened 
for more than two centuries. Books were written to give pleasure 
and to be enjoyed ; and I would have a rule passed that the dean 
should pay each of us a visit at least once a year. "I was written for all 
the world, not for bookworms of an abbey. I was written in my own 
native tongue,, at a time when the language had become fixed, and 
indeed I was considered a model of pure and elegant English." I see 
how it is. These modern scribblers have superseded all the good old 
authors. Wave after wave of succeeding- literature has rolled over 
them, until they are buried so deep, that it is only now and then that 
some industrious diver after a fragrance of antiquity brings up a 
specimen for the gratification of the curious. I consider this mutability 
of language a wise precaution of Providence for the benefit of the 
world at large, and of authors in particular. Language gradually varies, 
and with it fade away the writings of authors who have flourished 



67 



their allotted time, but the inventions of paper and the press have 
put an end to all these restraints. They have made everyone a writer, 
and enabled every mind to pour itself into print, and diffuse itself 
over the whole intellectual world. The consequences are alarming. The 
stream of literature has swollen into a torrent — augmented into a 
river — expanded into a sea. A few centuries since, five or six hundred 
manuscripts constituted a great library, but what would you say to 
libraries such as actually exist containing three of four hundred thou- 
sand volumes. There rise authors now and then, who seem proof 
against the mutability of language, because they have rooted them- 
selves in the unchanging principle of human nature. Such is the case 
with Shakespeare, whom we behold defying the encroachments of time, 
retaining in modern use the language and literature of his day. Others 
may write from the head, but he writes from the heart, and the heart 
will always understand him. I sought to have a parting word with 
the quarto, but the worthy little tome was silent. The clasps were 
closed. Was it another of those odd day-dreams to which I am subject? 

XVI. John Bull. 

There is no species of humor in which the English more excel than 
that which consists in caricaturing and giving ludicrous appellations, 
or nicknames. Their love for what is blunt, comic, and fa- 
miliar is so strong that they have embodied their national 
oddities in the figure of a sturdy, corpulent old fellow, with 
a three-cornered hat, red waistcoat, leather breeches, and stout 
oaken cudgel. Unluckily, the English sometimes make their 
boasted bullism an apology for their prejudice or grossness. 
Impertinent truth, unreasonable bursts of passion about trifles, 
coarseness of taste, are elements of John Bull. Under the name of 
John Bull, the choleric old blade, he will contrive to argue every fault 
into a merit. John Bull, to all appearance, is a plain, downright, 
matter-of-fact fellow, with much less of poetry about him than rich 
prose. There is little of romance in his nature, but a vast deal of strong 
natural feeling. He excels in humor more than in wit; is jolly rather 
than gay ; melancholy rather than morose ; can easily be moved to a 
sudden tear, or surprised into a broad laugh, but he loathes sentiment, 
and has no turn for light pleasantry. He is a boon-companion, if you 
allow him to have his humor, and to talk about himself; and he will 
stand by a friend in a quarrel, with life and purse, however soundly he 
may be cudgelled. He is a busy-minded personage, who thinks not 
merely for himself and family, but for all the country round, and is 
most generously disposed to be everybody's champion. He expects 
his neighbors to ask his advice. He is like some choleric, bottle-bellied 
old spider who has woven his web over a whole chamber, so that a 
fly cannot buzz, nor a breeze blow, without startling his repose, and 
causing him to sally forth wrathfully from his den. He is reallv a 
good-hearted, good-tempered old fellow at bottom, yet he is singularly 
fond of being in the midst of contention. Even when victorious he 
comes out of a fight grumbling. He is the most punctual and discon- 
tented paymaster in the world. With all his talk of economy, however, 
he is a bountiful provider, and a hospitable housekeeper. His house- 
servants are well paid and pampered, and have little to do. His horses 



68 



are sleek and lazy, and prance slowly before his state carriage. And his 
house-dogs sleep quietly about the door, and will hardly bark at a 
house-breaker. His family mansion is an old castellated manor-house, 
gray with age, and of a most venerable though weather-beaten appear- 
ance. To keep up his chapel has cost John much money, but he is 
staunch in his religion. He maintains at a large expense a pious and 
portly family chaplain. The vast fireplaces, ample kitchens, extensive 
cellars, and sumptuous banquetting halls, all speak of roaring hospi- 
tality. John has a great disposition to protect and patronize. His 
manor is encumbered by old retainers whom he cannot turn off, and 
an old style which he cannot lay down. His manor is infested by 
gangs of gypsies. Yet he will not suffer them to be driven off. John 
has such a reverence for everything that has been long in the family 
that he will not hear even of abuses being reformed, because they are 
good old family abuses. All these whims and habits have concurred 
woefully to drain the old gentleman's purse. His children have been 
brought up to different callings, and are of different ways of thinking. 
The mere mention of retrenchment in expenses or reform is a signal 
for a brawl between him and the tavern oracle. Instead of that jolly 
round corporation, and smug rosy face which he used to present, he 
has of late become as shriveled and shrunk as a frost-bitten apple. 
He now goes about whistling thoughtfully to himself, with his head 
drooping down, his cudgel tucked under his arm, and his hands thrust 
to the bottom of his breeches pockets, which are evidently empty. If 
you drop the least expression of sympathy or concern he takes fire in 
an instant. Swears that he is the richest and stoutest fellow in the 
country. With all his odd humors and obstinate prejudices, he is a ster- 
ling hearted old blade. He may not be so wonderfully fine a fellow as 
he thinks himself, but he is at least twice as good as his neighbors 
represent him. His extravagance savors of his generosity ; his quarrel- 
someness of his courage ; his credulity of his open faith ; his vanity of 
his pride, and his bluntness of his sincerity. He is like his own oak, 
rough without, but sound and solid within. All that I wish is, that 
John's present troubles may teach him more prudence in the future. 

XVII. Stratford-on-Avon : 

The words of sweet Shakespeare were just passing through my 
mind as the clock struck midnight from the tower of the church in 
which he lies buried. I went to bed and dreamt all night of Shake- 
speare, the jubilee, and David Garrick. I had come to Stratford on a 
poetical pilgrimage. My first visit was to the house where Shakespeare 
was born, and where, .according to tradition, he was brought up to his 
father's craft of wool-combing. It is a small, mean-looking edifice of 
wood and plaster, a true nestling-place of genius, which seems to 
delight in hatching its offspring in by-corners. The walls of its squalid 
chambers are covered with names and inscriptions in every language, 
by pilgrims of all nations, ranks, and conditions, from the prince to 
the peasant. A garrulous old lady, with a frosty red face, showed me 
Shakespeare's matchlock, his tobacco-box, his sword, his lantern and 
an ample supply of Shakespeare's mulberry-tree. I was very much 
interested in Shakespeare's chair. Here he may have sat when he was 
a boy. In this chair it is the custom of every one that visits the house 



69 



to sit. The chair had to be new bottomed at least once in three years. I 
am a ready believer in relics, legends, and local anecdotes of goblins 
and great men, and would advise all travelers who travel for their 
gratification to be the same. From the birthplace of Shakespeare a 
few paces brought me to his grave. He lies buried in the chancel of the 
parish church, a large and venerable pile, mouldering with age, but 
richly ornamented. It stands on the banks of the Avon. The graves are 
overgrown with grass. In the course of my rambles I met with the 
gray-headed sexton, Edmonds, and accompanied him home to get the 
key of the church. He had lived in Stratford, man and boy, for eighty 
years. We then saw the tomb of Shakespeare in the chancel. The place 
is solemn and sepulchral. Tall elms wave before the pointed windows, 
and the Avon, which runs at a short distance from the walls, keeps 
up a low perpetual murmur. A flat stone marks the spot where the 
bard is buried. There are four lines inscribed on it, said to have been 
written by himself : 

Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbeare 

To dig the dust enclosed here. 

Blessed be he that spares these stones, 

And curst be he that moves my bones. 
Just over the grave, in a niche of the wall is a bust of Shakespeare. 
The inscription on the tombstone has not been without its effect. It 
has prevented the removal of his remains from the bosom of his native 
place to Westminster Abbey, which was at one time contemplated. 
Next to his grave are those of his wife, his favorite daughter, Mrs. Hall, 
and the others of his family. There was something intense and thrill- 
ing in the idea, that, in very truth, the remains of Shakespeare were 
mouldering under my feet. I had a desire to see the old family seat of 
the Lucys, at Charlecot, and to ramble through the park where Shake- 
speare, in company with some of the roysterers of Stratford, com- 
mitted his youthful offence of deer-stealing. After that incident, he 
abandoned the pleasant banks of the Avon and his paternal trade, 
wandered to London, became a hanger-on to the theatres ; then an 
actor, and, finally wrote for the stage ; and thus, through the perse- 
cution of Sir Thomas Lucy, Stratford lost an indifferent wool-comber, 
and the world gained an immortal poet. Shakespeare, when young, had 
doubtless all the wildness and irregularity of an ardent, undisciplined, 
and undirected genius. He associated with all the madcaps of the place, 
and was one of those unlucky urchins. Indeed the whole country about 
here is poetic ground. Everything is associated with the idea of 
Shakespeare. Charlecot Hall is a large building of brick, with stone 
quoins, and is in the Gothic style of Queen Elizabeth's day, having 
been built in the first year of her reign. Large herds of deer were feed- 
ing or reposing upon its borders, and swans were sailing majestically 
upon its bosom. It now had an air of stillness and solitude. I was 
courteously received by a worthy old housekeeper, who, with the 
civility and communicativeness of her order, showed me the interior 
of the house. The picture in the hall which most attracted my attention 
was a great painting over the fireplace, containing likenesses of Sir 
Thomas Lucy and his family, who inhabited the hall in the latter part 
of Shakespeare's lifetime. I pleased myself with the idea that this 
very hall had been the scene of the unlucky bard's examination on 



70 



the morning after his captivity in the lodge. Who would have thought 
that this poor varlet, thus trembling before the brief authority of the 
country squire, and the sport of rustic boors, was soon to become the 
delight of princes, the theme of all tongues and ages, the dictator to 
the human mind, and was to confer immortality on his oppressor by a 
caricature and a lampoon? My mind had become so completely pos- 
sessed by the imaginary scenes and characters connected with it, that 
I seemed to be actually living among them. Under the wizard influence 
of Shakespeare I had been walking all day in a complete delusion. 

XVIII. Rip Van Winkle: . 

Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the 
Katskill mountains. At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager 
may have descried the light smoke curling up from a village, whose 
shingle-roofs gleam among the trees, just where the blue tints of the 
upland melt away into the fresh green of the nearer landscape. While 
the country was yet a province of Great Britain, a simple, good-natured 
fellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle lived there. He was, moreover, 
a kind neighbor, and an obedient, hen-pecked husband. He was a great 
favorite among all the good wives of the village. The children of the 
village, too, would shout with joy whenever he approached. He would 
never refuse to assist a neighbor in even the roughest toil. Rip was 
ready to attend to anybody's business but his own, but as to doing 
family duty, and keeping his farm in order, he counted it impossible. 
He declared that it was of no use to work on his farm. His patrimonial 
estate had dwindled away under his management. His children, too, 
were ragged and wild as if they belonged to nobody. His son Rip, an 
urchin begotten in his own likeness, promised to inherit his habits. 
Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of foolish, 
well-oiled dispositions, who take the world easy, eat white bread or 
brown, whichever can .be got with least thought or trouble, and would 
rather starve on a penny than work for a pound. But his wife kept 
continually- dinning in his ears about his idleness, his carelessness, 
and the ruin of bringing his family up in such manner. Morning, noon, 
and nigh,t, her tongue was incessantly going, and everything he said 
or did was sure to produce a torrent of household eloquence. Rip's 
sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was as much hen- 
pecked as his master. When driven from home, Rip used to console 
himself by frequenting a kind of perpetual club of sages, philosophers, 
and other idle personages of the village, which held its sessions on a 
bench before a small inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of His 
Majesty George the Third. The opinions of this junto were completely 
controlled by Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of the village and landlord 
of the inn, at the door of which he took his seat from morning till 
night. From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length routed 
by his termagant wife, who would suddenly break in upon the tran- 
quillity of the assemblage and call the members all to naught. . . In a 
long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day, Rip had unconsciously 
scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Katskill mountains. He 
heard a voice from a distance hallooing, "Rip Van Winkle ! Rip Van 
Winkle !" He perceived a strange figure slowly toiling up the rocks 
and was surprised at the singularity of the stranger's appearance. He 



71 



was a short, square-built fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a grizzled 
beard. He bore on his shoulder a stout keg, that seemed full of liquor, 
and made signs for Rip to approach and assist him with the load. 
After accompanying this stranger, he saw a company of odd-looking 
personages playing at ninepins. .They were dressed in a quaint, out- 
landish fashion. Their visages, too, were peculiar. One had a large 
beard, broad face, and small piggish eyes. They were evidently amusing 
themselves, yet they maintained the gravest faces, the most mysterious 
silence, and were, withal, the most melancholy party of pleasure he 
had ever witnessed. He even ventured, when no eye was fixed upon 
him, to taste the beverage. One taste provoked another, and he reiter- 
ated his visits to the flagon so often that at length his senses were 
overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his head gradually declined, 
and he fell into a deep sleep. . . On waking, he found himself on the 
green knoll whence he had first seen the old man of the glen. What 
excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle thought he. He looked 
round for his gun, but in place of the clean, well-oiled fowling-piece, 
he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel incrusted with rust, 
the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. Wolf, too, had dis- 
appeared. He found himself stiff in joints, and wanting in his usual 
activity. To his astonishment a mountain stream was now foaming 
down, leaping from rock to rock, and filling the glen with babbling 
murmurs where the gully had been. As he approached the village he 
met a number of people, but none whom he knew. They all stared at 
him with equal marks of surprise, and whenever they cast their eyes 
upon him, invariably stroked their chins. He found his beard had grown 
a foot long. A troop of strange children ran at his heels, hooting after 
him, and pointing at his gray beard. He began to doubt whether he 
and the world around him were not bewitched. He found his house 
gone to decay — the roof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors 
off the hinges. It was empty, forlorn, and apparently abandoned. He 
hastened to the village inn — but it, too, was gone. No more did he see 
the sign containing the face of King George but instead one with the 
name 'George Washington' painted underneath. He looked In vain for 
the sage Nicholas Vedder, or Van Brummel, the school master, doling 
forth the contents of an ancient newspaper. However, he di*d see a 
bilious-looking fellow haranguing vehemently about the rights of 
citizens — members of Congress — liberty — Bunker Hill — "whether he 
was Federal or Democrat" was a question asked by another. Rip was 
at a loss to comprehend the question. "Alas ! Gentlemen," cried Rip 
somewhat dismayed, "I am a poor, quiet man, a native of this place, 
and a loyal subject of the King, God bless him !" Here a general 
shout burst from the by-standers — "A Tory ! A Tory ! A spy ! A 
refugee ! Hustle him ! Away with him !" He was then told of the 
death of Nicholas Vedder and Brom Dutcher. Rip's heart died away 
at hearing of these sad changes in his home and friends, and finding 
himself thus alone in the world. "Does anybody here know Rip Van 
Winkle?" "Oh, Rip Van Winkle," exclaimed two or three, "Oh, sure! 
That's Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree." Rip looked 
and beheld a precise counterpart of himself. "God knows," exclaimed 
he, at his wits' end. "I'm not myself — I'm somebody else — that's me 
yonder — no — that's somebody else got into my shoes — I was myself 



72 



last night, but I fell asleep on the mountain, and they've changed my 
gun, and everything's changed and I'm changed, and I can't tell what's 
my name, or who I am !" Later he caught his daughter and her child 
in his arms. "I am your father!" cried he — "Young Rip Van Winkle 
once — old Rip Van Winkle now! Does nobody know poor Rip Van 
Winkle?" Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had 
been to him but one night. Rip soon resumed his old walks and ha- 
bits. He soon found many of his former cronies, though all rather the 
worse for the wear and tear of time. Having nothing to do at home, 
and being arrived at that happy age when a man can be idle with im- 
punity, he took his place once more on the bench at the inn-door. 

XIX. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow: 

The name of Tarry Town was given, we are told, in former days, 
by the good housewives of the adjacent country, from the inveterate 
propensity of their husbands to linger about the village tavern on 
market days. If ever I should wish for a retreat, whither I might steal 
from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly away the rem- 
nant of troubled life, I know of none more promising than this little 
valley. From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar character 
of its inhabitants, who are descendants from the original Dutch set- 
tlers, this sequestered glen has long been known by the name of 
Sleepy Hollow, and its rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow Boys 
throughout all the neighboring villages. A drowsy dreamy influence 
seems to hang over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere. The 
place still continues under the sway of some witching power. The 
dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and 
seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is the 
apparition of a figure on horseback without a head. It is said by some 
to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried 
away by a cannon-ball. This spectre is known, at all the country fire- 
sides, by the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. In 
this by-place of nature, there abode, in a remote period of American 
history, that is to say, some thirty years since, a worthy wight of the 
name of Ichabod Crane, who sojourned, or, as he expressed it, "tar- 
ried," in Sleepy Hollow, for the purpose of instructing the children of 
the vicinity. The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his per- 
son. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long 
arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that 
might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung 
together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large 
green, glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a 
weathercock perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind 
blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, 
with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one might have 
mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or 
some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield. Truth to say, he was a con- 
scientious man, and ever bore in mind the golden maxim, "Spare the 
rod and spoil the child." Ichabod Crane's scholars certainly were 
not spoiled. He administered justice with discrimination rather than 
severity, taking the burden off the backs of the weak, and laying it on 
those of the strong. The revenue arising from this school was small, 



73 



and would have been scarcely sufficient to furnish him with daily- 
bread, for he was a huge feeder, and, though lank, had the dilating 
powers of an anaconda. To help out his maintenance, he was, ac- 
cording to country custom in those parts, boarded and lodged at the 
houses of the farmers, whose children he instructed. He assisted the 
farmers occasionally in the lighter labors of their farms, helped to 
make hay, mended fences, took the horses to water, drove the cows 
from pasture, and cut wood for the winter fire. In addition to his other 
vocations, he was the singing-master of the neighborhood, and picked 
up many a bright shilling by instructing the young folks in psalmody. 
Our man of letters was peculiarly happy in the smile of all the country 
damsels. From his half itinerant life, also, he was a kind of traveling 
gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip from house to 
house. No tale was too gross or monstrous for his capacious swallow. 
His only resource on such occasions, either to drown thought or drive 
away evil spirits, was to sing Psalm-tunes. Among the musical dis- 
ciples who assembled, one evening in each week, to receive his instruc- 
tions in Psalmody, was Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter, and only 
child, of a substantial Dutch farmer. She was a blooming lass of fresh 
eighteen, plump as a partridge, ripe and melting and rosy-cheeked 
as one of her father's peaches, and universally famed, not merely for 
beauty, but her vast expectations. She was withal a little of a coquette. 
Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart toward the sex, and it is 
not to be wondered at that so tempting a morsel soon found favor in 
his eyes, more especially after he had visited her in her paternal man-, 
sion. The pedagogue's mouth watered, as he looked upon the sump- 
tuous promise of luxurious winter fare. In his devouring mind's eye 
he pictured to himself every roasting-pig running about with a pud- 
ding in his belly, and an apple in his mouth, the pigeons were snugly 
put to bed in a comfortable pie, and tucked in with a coverlet Of crust. 
The geese were swimming in their own gravy, and the ducks pairing 
cosily in dishes, like snug married couples, with a decent competency 
of onion sauce. His heart yearned after the damsel who was to inherit 
these domains, and his imagination expanded with the idea how they 
might readily be turned into cash, and the money invested in immense 
tracts of wild land, and shingle palaces in the wilderness. From the 
moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these regions of delight, the peace 
of his mind was at an end, and his only study was how to gain the 
affections of the peerless daughter of Van Tassel. Among the most 
formidable of her admirers was a burly, roaring, roistering blade, 
of the name of Abraham, -or, according to the Dutch abbreviation. 
Brom Van Brunt, the hero of the country round, which rang with his 
feats of strength and hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and double 
jointed, with short curly black hair, and a bluff but not pleasant 
countenance having a mingled air of fun and arrogance. From his 
Herculean form and great powers of limb, he had received the nick- 
name of Brom Bones, by which he was universally known. He was 
famed for great knowledge and skill in horsemanship, being as dex- 
terous on horseback as a Tartar. He was always ready for either a 
fight or a frolic, but had more mischief than ill-will in his composition. 
Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along past the farm- 
houses at midnight, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Cos- 



74 



sacks. Ichabod, therefore, made his advances in a quiet and gently in- 
sinuating manner. Under cover of his character of singing-master, he 
had made frequent visits at the farm house. Bait Van Tassel was an 
easy, indulgent soul. He loved his daughter better than his pipe, and, 
like a reasonable man and an excellent father, let her have her way in 
everything. A deadly feud gradually arose between Brom Bones and 
the preceptor of Sleepy Hollow. Ichabod became the object of whim- 
sical persecution to Bones and his gang of rough riders. . . A negro 
came clattering up to the school-door with an invitation to Ichabod to 
attend a merry making or "quilting frolic/' to be held that evening at 
Mynheer Van Tassel's. All was now bustle and hubbub in the quiet 
school-room : the scholars hurried through their lessons without stop- 
ping at trifles ; books were flung aside without being put away on the 
shelves, inkstands were overturned, benches thrown down, and the 
whole school was a legion of young imps, yelping and racketing about 
the green in joy of their early emancipation. The gallant Ichabod now 
spent at least an extra half-hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing 
up his best and indeed only suit of rusty black, and arranging his locks 
by a bit of broken looking glass, that. hung in the school-house. The 
animal that he later bestrode was a broken-down plough-horse, that 
had out-lived almost everything but his viciousness. He was gaunt and 
shagged, with a ewe neck and a head like a hammer; his rusty mane 
and tail were tangled and knotted with burrs ; one eye had lost its pupil, 
and was glaring and spectral ; but the other had the gleam of a genuine 
devil in it; still he must have had fire and mettle in his day, if we may 
judge from the name he bore of Gunpowder. Ichabod was a suitable 
figure for such a steed. He rode with short stirrups, which brought 
his knees nearly up to the pommel of the saddle. His sharp elbows 
stuck out like grasshoppers'. He carried his whip perpendicularly in 
his hand, like a sceptre, and, as his horse jogged on, the motion of his 
arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. A small wool hat 
rested on the top of his nose, for so his scanty strip of forehead might 
be called ; and the skirts of his black coat fluttered out almost to the 
horse's tail. It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the castle 
of the Herr Van Tassel, which he found thronged with the pride and 
flower of the adjacent country. Brom Bones, however, was the hero 
of the scene, having come to the gathering on his favorite steed, Dare- 
devil, a creature, like himself, full of mettle and mischief, and which 
no one but himself could manage. Ichabod could not help rolling his 
large eyes round him as he ate, and chuckling with the possibility that 
he might one day be lord of all this scene of almost unimaginable 
luxury and splendor. Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as 
much as upon his vocal powers. Not a limb, not a fibre about him was 
idle. The lady of his heart was his partner in the dance, and smiling 
graciously in reply to all his amorous oglings ; while Brom Bones, 
sorely smitten with love and jealousy, sat brooding by himself in one 
corner. Many dismal tales were told about funeral trains, and mourn- 
ing cries and wailings heard and seen about the great tree where the 
unfortunate Major Andre was taken, and which stood in the neighbor- 
hood. All these tales sank deep in the mind of Ichabod. The revel now 
gradually broke up. The old farmers gathered together their families 
in their wagons, and were heard for some time rattling along the 



75 



hollow roads, and over the distant hills. Ichabod, only, lingered behind, 
according to the custom of country lovers, to have a tete-a-tete with 
the heiress, fully convinced that he was now on the high road to suc- 
cess. Then he went straight to the stable, and with several hearty cuffs 
and kicks, roused his steed most uncourteously from the comfortable 
quarters in which he was soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains 
of corn and oats, and whole valleys of timothy and clover. It was the 
very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy-hearted and crest- 
fallen, pursued his travel homewards, along the sides of the lofty hills 
which rise above Tarry Town. All the stories of ghosts and goblins that 
he had heard in the afternoon, now came crowding upon his recollec- 
tion. As Ichabod approached the fearful and enormous tulip-tree, of 
Major Andre fame, he began to whistle. He thought his whistle was 
answered — it was b,ut a blast sweeping sharply through the dry 
branches. As he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw some- 
thing white, hanging in the midst of the tree — he paused and ceased 
whistling. But on looking more narrowly, he perceived that it was a 
place where the tree had been scathed by lightning, and the white wood 
laid bare. Suddenly he heard a groan — his teeth chattered and his knees 
smote against the saddle. As he approached the brook, his heart began 
to thump. He summoned, however, all his resolution, gave his horse 
half a score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across 
the bridge. It was all in vain. In the dark shadow of the grove on the 
margin of the brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen, black, and 
towering. The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with 
terror. He demanded in stammering accents — "Who are you?" He 
received no reply. He cudgelled the sides of the inflexible Gunpowder, 
and, shutting his eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor into a 
Psalm-tune. The shadowy object appeared to be a horseman of large 
dimensions, and mounted on a black horse of powerful frame. He 
made no offer of molestation or sociability, but kept aloof on one side 
of the road, jogging along on the blind side of old Gunpowder. Ichabod 
pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind — the other did 
the same. His heart began to sink within him. He endeavored to resume 
his Psalm-tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, 
and he could not utter a stave. Ichabod was horror-struck, on perceiv- 
ing that he was headless ! — but his horror was still more increased 
on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, 
was carried before him on the pommel of the saddle. His terror rose 
to desperation. He rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gun- 
— but the spectre started full jump with him. Away then they dashed, 
through thick and thin, stones flying, and sparks flashing at every 
bound. Ichabod's flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as he stretched 
his long lank body away over his horse's head, in the eagerness of his 
flight. Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very 
act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored to dodge the hor- 
rible missile, but too late. It encountered his cranium with a tre- 
mendous crash — he was tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gun- 
powder, the black steed, and the goblin rider passed by like a whirl- 
wind. The next morning the old horse was found without his saddle ; 
Ichabod did not make his appearance at breakfast. Dinner-hour came, 
but no Ichabod. Near the brook, where the water ran deep and black. 



76 



was found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it a 
shattered pumpkin. The people of the village shook their^heads, and 
came to the conclusion that Ichabod had been carried off by the Gal- 
loping Hessian. News was later received that Ichabod Crane was 
still alive in New York. Brom Bones, too, who shortly after his rival's 
disappearance conducted the blooming Katrina in triumph to the altar, 
was observed to look exceedingly knowing whenever the story of Icha- 
bod was related, and always burst into hearty laugh at the mention 
of the pumpkin — which led some to suspect that he knew more about 
the matter than he chose to tell. The old country wives maintain to 
this day that Ichabod was spirited away by supernatural means; and 
it is a favorite story often told about the neighborhood round the 
winter evening fire. 

XXI. The Spectre Bridegroom : 

On the summit of one of the heights of the Odenwald, a wild and 
romantic tract of Upper Germany, that lies not far from the confluence 
of the Main and the Rhine, there stood, many, many years since, the 
Castle of the Baron Von Landshort. The baron was a dry branch of 
the great family of Katzenellenbogen, and inherited the relics of the 
property, and all the pride of his ancestors. The baron had but one 
child, a daughter. All the nurses, gossips, and country cousins assured 
her father that she had not her equal for beauty in all Germany. She 
became a miracle of accomplishments. She could embroider, read, 
write, dance, and play the harp and guitar. As to the men — pah ! — she 
was taught to hold them at such a distance, and in such absolute 
distrust, that she would not even glance at them. The young lady was 
a pattern of docility and correctness ; her aunts looked upon her with 
pride and exultation, and vaunted that though all the other young 
ladies of the world might go astray, yet, thank Heaven, nothing of the 
kind could happen to the heiress of Katzenellenbogen. The baron, 
though a small man, had a large soul, and it swelled with satisfaction 
at the consciousness of being the greatest man in the little world 
about him. A negotiation had been carried on between the father and 
an old nobleman of Bavaria, to unite the dignity of their houses by the 
marriage of their children. The young people were betrothed without 
seeing each other and the time was appointed for the marriage cer- 
emony. The young Count Von Altenburg had been recalled from the 
army for the purpose, and was actually on his way to the baron's 
to receive his bride. The castle was in a tumult of preparation to give 
him a suitable welcome. The fair bride had been decked out with un- 
common care. Everything was ready to receive the distinguished guest 
with Saus and Braus in the true spirit of German hospitality. But 
the guest delayed to make his appearance. Hour rolled after hour. 
The young Count Von Altenburg was tranquilly pursuing his route 
in that sober jog-trot way, in which a man travels toward matrimony. 
He had encountered at Wiirtzburg a youthful companion in arms — 
Herman Von Starkenfaust, one of the stoutest hands and worthiest 
hearts of German chivalry, who was now returning from the army. 
They had entered among the mountains of the Odenwald, and were 
traversing one of its most lonely and thickly-wooded passes when the 
cavaliers were attacked by a gang of robbers in the midst of the forest. 



77 



The robbers fled, but not until the count had received a mortal wound. 
With his dying breath he entreated his friend to repair instantly to the 
castle of Landshort, and explain the fatal cause of his not keeping 
his appointment with his bride. Starkenfaust bestowed a sigh and a 
soldier's tear on the untimely fate of his comrade ; and then pondered 
on the awkward mission he had undertaken. There were certain whis- 
perings of curiosity in his bosom to see this far-famed beauty of 
Katzenellenbogen. . . All were seated at the table, and just on the point 
of commencing, when the sound of a horn from without the gate gave 
notice of the approach of a stranger. The baron hastened to receive 
his future son-in-law. "I am sorry," said the stranger, "to break in 
upon you thus unseasonbly" — here the baron interrupted him with 
a world of compliments and greetings. The stranger was again about 
to speak, when he was once more interrupted by the appearance of 
the female part of the family, leading forth a shrinking and blushing 
bride. He gazed on her for a moment as one entranced. It seemed as 
if his whole soul beamed forth in the gaze and rested upon that lovely 
form. The baron was preemptory, and deferred all particular conver- 
sation until the morning, and led the way to the untasted banquet. It 
was soon evident that the young couple were completely enamored. 
Amidst all this revelry, the stranger-guest maintained a most singular 
and unreasonable gravity. His conversation with the bride became 
more and more earnest and mysterious. The baron nearly frightened 
some of the ladies into hysterics with the history of the goblin horse- 
man that carried away the fair Lenora. The bridegroom listened to 
this tale with profound attention. The moment the tale was finished, he 
heaved a deep sigh and took a solemn farewell of the company. They 
were all amazement. The baron was perfectly thunderstruck. The bride 
hung her head, and a tear stole to her eye. "I must away to Wurtz- 
burg cathedral," said the stranger, "my engagement is with no bride 
— the worms! the worms expect me! I am a dead man — I have been 
slain by robbers — my body lies at Wiirtzburg — at midnight I am to be 
buried — the grave is waiting for me — I must keep my appointment!" 
He sprang on his black charger, dashed over the draw-bridge, and 
the clattering of his horse's hoofs was lost in the whistling of the 
night blast. The baron soon related what had passed and two ladies 
fainted outright, others sickened at the idea of having banqueted with 
a spectre. Next day, regular missives arrived and confirmed the intel- 
ligence of the young count's murder, and his interment in Wiirtzburg 
cathedral. . . The castle-clock had just tolled midnight on the night of 
the second day of her widowhood, when a soft strain of music stole up 
from the garden. She rose hastily from her bed, and stepped to the 
window. A tall figure stood among the shadows of the trees. As it 
raised its head, a beam of moonlight fell upon the countenance. Heaven 
and earth ! She beheld the Spectre Bridegroom ! A loud shriek at the 
moment burst upon her ear, and her aunt, who had been awakened by 
the music, and had followed her silently to the window, fell into her 
arms. When she looked again the spectre had disappeared. The aunt 
declared she would never sleep in that chamber again. The niece, for 
once, was refractory, and declared as strongly that she would sleep 
in no other in the castle. One morning the young lady was not to be 
found — her room was empty — the bed had not been slept in — the 



78 



window was open and the bird had flown. "The goblin ! the goblin ! 
she's carried away by the goblin !" This was the aunt's remark. But 
what a lamentable situation was that of the poor baron. Later, a lady 
was seen approaching the castle, mounted on a palfrey, attended by a 
cavalier on horseback. She galloped up to the gate, sprang from the 
horse, and falling at the baron's feet, embraced his knees. It was his 
lost daughter. It was her companion, the Spectre Bridegroom who 
attended her. The mystery was soon cleared up. He told how he had 
hastened to the castle to deliver the unwelcome tidings, but that the 
eloquence of the baron had interrupted him in every attempt to tell 
his tale. Matters, therefore, were happily arranged. The baron par- 
doned the young couple on the spot. The revels at the castle were 
resumed. The poor relations overwhelmed this new member of the 
family with loving-kindness. He was so generous, so gallant — and so 
rich. 



SILAS MARNER (1861) 

Author : 

MARY ANN EVANS, GEORGE ELIOT. 

Born at Arbury Farm, Warwickshire, November 22, 1819. 
Died at London, December 22, 1880. Married George Henry 
Lewes, 1854-1878; married John Walter Cross, 1880. Novelist, 
editor, poet, moralist ; traveled through Italy and Germany ; a 
realist and psychologist ; witty, sensible, penetrating, serious, 
pedantic. "Very jealous in her affections, and easily moved to 
smiles or tears, she was of a nature capable of the keenest enjoy- 
ment and the keenest suffering, knowing all the wealth and all the 
woe of a pre-eminently exclusive disposition. She was affection- 
ate, proud, and sensitive in the highest degree." 
Works : 

"Scenes of Clerical Life," "The Mill on the Floss," "Felix Holt, 
the Radical," "Middlemarch," "Adam Bede," "Romola," "Daniel 
Deronda," "The Spanish Gypsy" (a poem), "Agatha" (a poem). 
Criticism : 

"The whole series of her works is an amplification of the text, 
'Whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap.' This quality 
of her stories springs from the seriousness of her character and 
the fundamental position occupied in it by conscience." "They 
were written for social and moral instruction. Her works are 
properly called 'novels of purpose,' and the didactic and reflective 
passages are not out of place." "Her people are persons to live 
with, to understand, to sympathize with ; they grow, they change, 
have moods, act in unexpected yet natural ways ; in a word, are 
real. Tf you should prick them they would bleed.' " "Silas Marner 
is a story of one man and of his neighbors in so far as they are 
related to him ; it has unity. Silas Marner is not confused by many 

79 

I 



details; it has simplicity; the theme of the story is not stated 
abstractly only, but it is expressed sensuously in the characters 
and action and dialogue, making an appeal to the imagination ; 
and all this is done with such skill and beauty as to charm the 
critic and the servant girl, the old and the young alike. It is, 
therefore, a work of art." 

"George Eliot is more obviously, more consciously a preacher 
and moralizer than any of her great contemporaries. Though 
profoundly religious at heart, she was largely occupied by the 
scientific spirit of the age; and finding no religious creed or 
political system satisfactory, she fell back upon duty as the 
supreme law of life. All her novels aim, first, to show in indi- 
viduals the play of universal moral forces, and second, to establish 
the moral law as the basis of human society." According to 
George Eliot, "tragedy and suffering walk close behind us, or 
lurk at every turn in the road to life." 

Time : 

About the beginning of the nineteenth century. 
Place : 

Raveloe and Lantern Yard. 
The Story: 

Chapter I. In the days when the spinning-wheels hummed busily 
in the farmhouses, the weaver and his trade were the objects of sus- 
picion, superstition and mystery. The village of Raveloe had such a 
weaver in the person of Silas Marner. His body was frail and bent- 
over, and he had a pale face with large, brown, protuberant eyes. 
Raveloe was an important-looking village where many of the old 
echoes lingered, undrowned by new voices. It was fifteen years since 
Silas Marner had first come to Raveloe. He had been living the life 
of a miserly recluse. Jem Rodney, the mole-catcher, tells of Silas's 
"fit." Silas had mysteriously cured Sally Oates. Marner had come 
from Lantern Yard, where he had been a popular artisan and a good 
churchman. His "best" friend there was William Dane. Silas had 
been engaged to Sarah whom he had loved dearly. His cataleptic "fits" 
interested his fellow-churchmen. Dane called these fits "visitations of 
Satan." Sarah cooled in her affection. Silas and William took turns 
to night-watch the senior deacon who was ill. One night, while Silas 
watched, the deacon died. Marner was taken to the church where 
he was accused of stealing the church money. His knife was found 
in the place of the money-bag. William Dane found the church money 
in Silas's chamber. Silas knew himself to be innocent and kept saying, 
"God will clear me." The congregation drew lots to find the thief — 
the lots declared that Silas Marner was guilty — he was solemnly sus- 
pended from church-membership. Silas accused William Dane of 
treachery ; he gave up his trust in God and Man. Sarah left Silas and 
was soon married to Dane. Silas left Lantern Yard and came to 
Raveloe. 

Chapter II. Silas worked like a spider. His loom became the 
object of his adoration. He began to love the gold guineas for them- 
selves rather than for what they might purchase, His nature had 

80 

l 



shrunk into an insect-like existence. Marner gained a reputation by 
curing- the cobbler's wife, Sally Oates, of heart-disease and dropsy. 
Marner drove away all the others who came to be cured, and he thus 
hightened the repulsion between him and his neighbors, and made his 
isolation more complete. His life had reduced itself to the purposeless 
functions of weaving and hoarding. He became withered and yellow, 
and though less than forty, was called "Old Master Marner." Silas 
grieved when he accidently broke his precious, brown, earthenware 
pot, and kept the pasted thing as a memorial. At night Silas would 
revel in the handling and fondling of his guineas. He was cut off from 
God and Man and had substituted in their stead, Gold. 

Chapter III. Squire Cass of the Red House was the greatest 
man in Raveloe. His feasts and revels were always on a large scale. 
His wife was long dead and his three sons had been kept home in 
idleness. Dunstan, the younger, was a spiteful, jeering fellow; God- 
frey, the eldest, was a fine, open-faced, good-natured young man who 
was popularly coupled with Miss Nancy Lammeter. Godfrey informs 
Dunstan that the rent received from Fowler must be immediately 
turned over to the impatient Squire. "Since you were so kind to hand 
the money over to me," said Dunstan, "you will oblige me by paying 
it back for me." Dunstan threatens to tell the Squire of Godfrey's 
secret marriage to the drunken woman, Molly Farran, and thus has 
Godfrey at his mercy. Dunstan suggests selling Wildfire. Godfrey 
finally agrees to let Dunstan sell Wildfire. Godfrey's ambition was to 
win Nancy Lammeter for his wife ; but he had let himself be dragged 
into mud and mire — he was suffering the pangs of a guilty conscience. 

Chapter IV. Dunsey thinks of borrowing the money from Silas 
Marner, but prefers the satisfaction of selling Wildfire. He tells Bryce 
and Keating, horse-dealers, that Wildfire belongs to him as a result 
of a swap with Godfrey. Bryce offers 120 pounds for Wildfire, and 
awaits Dunstan's return from a joy-ride ; but Dunstan soon "stakes" 
and kills his horse. Disgusted, Dunsey proceeds to Marner's cottage, 
where he expected to borrow the money from the miser. Marner is 
not in. Dunstan finally finds the hoard under the bricks of the floor 
and makes his escape in the darkness. 

Chapter V. Silas anxiously arrives at his cottage from the Lam- 
meters'. He prepares his pork for supper and wishes to have his money 
on the table before him. Slowly but violently the shock of the robbery 
strikes the poor weaver. His mind is too slow to realize the truth. He 
quickly suspects Jem Rodney, the disreputable poacher, and madly 
rushes off to the Rainbow to beg for his money. 

Chapter VI. At the Rainbow, Mr. Snell, the landlord, a man of 
neutral disposition, Bob, the butcher, the blacksmith, Mr. Macey, 
tailor and parish-clerk, Mr. Tookey, the deputy-clerk, and Mr. Win- 
throp, the wheelwright and choir-leader, were discussing most seri- 
ously the subject of cows. The conversation soon turns upon the 
subject of church music, steers off to the history of Mr. Lammeter's 
father, and finally hits upon the subject of ghosts — Mr. Dowlas is ready 
to wager any man ten pounds that he could stand out in the isolated 
pastures before the Warrens' stables, and would not be scared of 
ghosts; the others laugh at his challenge. 

Chapter VII. The pale, thin figure of Silas Marner suddenly 



81 



appears at the window, ghost-like. This apparition throws the com- 
pany in the Rainbow into consternation. Marner accuses Jem Rod- 
ney and begs him to return the money. The men force Marner to 
explain himself. Silas tells of the robbery. Silas apologizes to Jem 
for being so hasty. After a useless wrangling Marner is accompanied 
to the constable. 

Chapter VIII. Godfrey is too much occupied with thoughts of 
Nancy to think of Dunstan. Godfrey hears of the robbery. The 
village "detectives" hinge their conclusion upon a tinder-box and a 
straggling peddler who wore ear-rings. There is much ado and excite- 
ment over the robbery and Silas Marner becomes unexpectedly popu- 
lar. The village gossips argue and reargue wisely and long-windedly 
over the merits of each clue. Godfrey grows anxious about Dunstan 
and Wildfire. Bryce informs Godfrey of the mishap to Wildfire. Exas- 
perated and disgusted Godfrey determines to confess all to his father. 
He realizes the fiery nature of his father. Godfrey shows signs of 
weakening and shrinking in his resolution. 

Chapter IX. The Squire threatens Fowler, his tenant, with dis- 
possession for the latter's failure to pay the rent. Godfrey tells the 
Squire of the staking and killing of Wildfire ; that he received the 
hundred pounds from Fowler and that he (Godfrey) had turned over 
the money to Dunstan. The Squire becomes violent with anger. He 
threatens his sons with disinheritance. He suspects Godfrey's motives 
(of bribery) for giving Dunstan the money. The Squire makes Godfrey 
feel that he (Godfrey) neither deserves nor is capable of winning 
Nancy for his wife. Godfrey always plays the game of Chance. Con- 
science seems to be getting the better of him. 

Chapter X. Dunstan's absence was hardly a subject of remark ; 
His disappearance was never connected in the least with the robbery. 
Silas feels his withering desolation as a result of his bereavement. 
He feels as if the support of his life had been snatched away. He fills 
up the blank in his life with grief. His condition provokes the sympathy 
of his neighbors. Mr. Macey exhorts him to brace up, to come to 
church, and to forget the loss of his useless money. Mrs. Winthrop, 
too, calls with her little son, Aaron, to encourage Silas. She instills 
into Silas the spirit of true Christianity and makes Aaron sing a little 
Christian ditty. Silas is "all a muddle" after his comforters leave 
him. He is glad to be alone with his grief. Godfrey looks forward to 
New Year's Eve with a foolish, reckless longing that makes him quite 
forget that Anxiety was at his heels. 

Chapter XI. The Lammeters arrive, and Godfrey assists Nancy 
to alight. The Red House is all excitement — the ladies criticise and 
compliment each Other's gowns, coiffure, and general appearance. The 
Misses Gunn are objects of sharp and unflattering comments. Priscilla 
and her sister Nancy make a very attractive appearance. Nancy is 
quite cool to Godfrey. The Crackenthorps, the Kimbles, and the 
others arrive, and there is general good-humor. Nancy accepts God- 
frey's invitation to dance with him. There is general revelry and 
jollification. Mr. Macey and a few other privileged villagers are al- 
lowed to be spectators on this great occasion. They look on with great 
admiration and interest. Nancy suddenly leaves the dancing-floor 

82 



and begs to be excused for a moment to repair a rent in her gown. 
Godfrey obstinately remains with her. 

Chapter XII. On this New Year's Eve Godfrey's wife, Molly 
is making her way, child in her arms, to the Red House to mar God- 
frey's pleasure and reveal his true character. It is very cold and the 
snow is lying deep on the ground. She draws out of her bosom the 
black remnant of opium, swallows it, and throws the empty vial away. 
Cold and weary she sinks down upon the snow, her little one slum- 
bering on as gently as if it had been rocked in a lace-trimmed cradle. 
The little child awakes, cries "Mammy," and toddles off to catch a 
bright glancing light on the white ground. This gleam brings her into 
Silas Marner's cottage. Instinctively the child lies down near the fire- 
place and soon falls asleep. Silas Marner is in his cottage but does 
not notice his strange visitor come in. As he stood at the door he was 
arrested by the invisible wand of catalepsy, and stood like a graven 
image, with wide sightless eyes. On turning around he thought 
he beheld his Gold lying there by the hearth. He stretched his hand 
forth but his figers encountered soft warm curls. For a moment Silas 
believed that his little sister had returned to him from Lantrn Yard. 
The child awakes and clings to Marner's neck. Silas had plenty to do 
through the next hour. The child's cry of "mammy," her little wet 
boots, and her peculiar appearance suggests to Silas's slow mind that 
there must be something else lying out in the snow near the furze bush. 

Chapter XIII. The company was at the height of its enjoyment at 
the Red House when Silas Marner suddenly made his appearance — 
white-lipped and trembling, the child tightly embraced in his arms, 
Silas wildly calls for the Doctor, and tells of the woman "dead in the 
snow at the Stone-pits." Godfrey felt a great throb — if the woman 
were not dead. The party is thrown into confusion and Silas becomes 
the central figure of all the excitement. Silas refuses to part with the 
child: "It's come to me — I can't let it go — I've a right to keep it." 
Godfrey rushes out plunging ankle-deep in snow. He asks who "this 
woman" is, and is much relieved when he is told that she was dead. 
Silas adds, "The mother's dead, and I reckon it's got no father: it's 
a lone thing, and I'm a lone thing. My money's gone, I don't know 
where, and this is come from I don't know where. I know nothing — 
I'm partly 'mazed." Godfrey returns to the Red House and makes 
little of the incident of the dead woman found in the snow. He is 
particularly joyful for the remainder of the evening. 

Chapter XIV. Silas's determination to keep the "tramp's child" 
softened the feelings of the villagers toward him. Dolly Winthrop 
sedulously teaches Marner how to care for the child. The baby takes 
to Silas who expresses a selfish desire to be the only one to do the 
rearing. Dolly impresses the timid Silas with the importance of 
christening the child. Silas decides to call her "Eppy" for short. Silas 
is unconsciously brought back to God in his eagerness to do everything 
that is right for Eppy. Unlike the Gold, Eppy proves to be a creature 
of endless claims and ever-growing desires, seeking and loving sun- 
shine, and living sounds, and living movements. She forces his thoughts 
onward calling him away from weaving and carrying him into the 
circle of human society. "As the child's mind was growing into 
knowledge, his mind was growing into memory; as her life unfolded, 



83 



his soul, long stupefied in a cold, narrow prison, was unfolding, too, 

and trembling finally into full consciousness." Eppy grows very mis- 
chievous, and upon the advice of Dolly Winthrop, Silas shuts her into 
the coal-hole; but Silas trembled lest Eppy should love him the less 
for it. On another occasion Eppy learns the use of a pair of scissors, 
cuts herself from the loom to which Silas customarily tied her, 
and disappears. Silas is thrown into frenzy of fear and excitement; 
he rushes out and shouts for Eppy. He searches the meadow and the 
next field in vain. Finally in a corner of the field near a small pond, he 
rinds Eppy discoursing cheerfully to her own small boot. Overcome 
with conclusive joy at finding his treasure again, Silas could do nothing 
but snatch her up, and cover her with half-sobbing kisses. The coal- 
hole proved a failure as a disciplinary measure, so Eppy was reared 
without punishment. Silas becomes a social figure, cheerful and 
hospitable. No child was now afraid of approaching Silas when Eppy 
was near. Eppy had come to link him once more with the whole 
world. Silas saw to it that Eppy should have everything that was good 
in Raveloe. The coins he earned afterwards seemed as irrelevant as 
stones brought to complete a house suddenly buried by an earthquake. 
The hand of a child may lead a man away from the city of destruction. 

Chapter XV. For fifteen years Godfrey watched with keen in- 
terest the prosperous growth of Eppy under the weaver's care. God- 
frey's cheek and eye were brighter than ever now. No Dunsey had 
come back. Everybody said that Godfrey had taken the right turn. He 
and Nancy were about to be married. As for that other child, he would 
not forget it. He would see that it was well provided for. 

Part II. 

Chapter XVI. It is sixteen years since Silas Marner had found his 
new treasure on the hearth. Godfrey Cass, now forty, is seen coming 
from church with his wife Nancy on his arm. In the church procession 
we see Silas Marner, too, an older but a newer man. A blond, dimpled 
girl of eighteen is at his side, and all the lads of the village agree upon 
the supreme beauty of Eppie Marner. She carries her prayer-book 
neatly folded in her spotted handkerchief. Aaron Winthrop, now a 
good-looking young fellow, seems particularly interested in Eppie. 
Eppie expresses her desire for a little garden, and Aaron volunteers 
to help along. The home of Silas Marner had undergone a great 
change to the better: there was a fine dog and a playful kitten near 
the fireplace; there was no bed now in the living-room — everything 
was bright, clean, and^spick and span. Silas has taken to smoking a 
pipe in the sunshine. Memory had also reawakened, and Silas began 
to ponder over his old faith, until he recovered a consciousness of 
unity between his past and present.. Dolly Winthrop assists Silas in 
recalling his religious faith of the past. They discuss the "drawing of 
lots." Dolly impresses Silas with the importance of trusting God. 
Silas had told Eppy of her past: how her mother had died on the 
snowy ground, and how she herself had been found on the hearth by 
father Silas, who had taken her golden curls for his lost guineas 
brought back to him. Silas delivered the wedding ring belonging to 
Eppie's mother, and which had been taken from the wasted finger. 
The stone-pits had been lately drained, and dried up, and Eppie finds 



84 



a great supply of stones for her garden. Eppie surprises Marner with 
her talk of marrying Aaron. Silas falls into deep meditation, sighs, 
and finally says, "I'll not be the man to say no, Eppie." 

Chapter XVII. The Squire had been long dead, and a great 
change had come over the Red House since Godfrey and Nancy had 
taken possession. What was once dreary and untidy was now purity 
and order. Nancy, however, had been for a long time melancholy and 
clouded, evidently weary and worried. She tells her sister Priscilla 
that Godfrey was naturally disappointed in her for not having any 
children. Nancy was falling into a morbid habit of excessive con- 
templation and self-questioning. Nancy's deepest wounds had all come 
from the perception that the absence of children from their hearth 
was dwelt on in her husband's mind as a privation to which he could 
not reconcile himself. Nancy asks herself if she had been right in re- 
sisting her husband's wish to adopt a child. The adopted child, she 
was convinced, would never turn out well, and would be a curse to 
those who had wilfully and rebelliously sought what it was clear that, 
for some high reason, they were better without. Godfrey had always 
favored adopting Eppy, and he felt confident that Silas would not 
mind parting with Eppy. Godfrey was sensible of Nancy's love and 
consideration; but it seemed to him impossible that he should ever 
confess to her the truth about Eppy. A servant-girl informs Nancy 
that there must be some trouble in the village. 

Chapter XVIII. Godfrey suddenly rushes in, pale and excited. 
He tells Nancy that the body of Dunstan — his skeleton — had been 
found in the stone-pits which had dried up, and that Silas Marner's 
stolen money bags were found near the body — that it was Dunstan 
who had stolen the money, and had lain for sixteen years in the stone- 
pits. Desperate and nervous Godfrey reveals the secret of his first 
marriage to the woman found dead in the snow, and that Eppy was 
his own child. Nancy remains silent throughout Godfrey's confession, 
but, with no indignation in her voice she regretfully says, "Godfrey, 
if you had but told me this six years ago, we could have done 
our duty to the child. Do you think I'd have refused to take her 
in, if I'd known she was yours?" Godfrey and Nancy determine to 
visit Silas Marner that very night and reclaim Eppy. 

Chapter XIX. Silas is fondly recalling his past to Eppy, when 
Mr. and Mrs. Godfrey Cass come in. After a short introductory talk 
relative to Silas's trade and affairs, Godfrey approached the proposi- 
tion of parting with Eppy. Silas does not understand the mean- 
ing of Godfrey's words at first and asks for further explanation. 
Godfrey offers his beautiful home and the society of Nancy for the fu- 
ture enjoyment of Eppy. Silas, fearing to stand in the way of Eppy's 
future, begs Eppy to decide for herself. Eppy courteously refuses 
Godfrey's invitation. Godfrey then presents his claim as a father. 
Marner bitterly answers, "Then, sir, why didn't you say so sixteen 
years ago, and claim her before I'd come to love her, i'stead o' coming 
to take her from me now, when you might as well take the heart out o' 
my body? God gave her to me because you turned your back upon 
her, and He looks upon her as mine : you've no right to her ! When a 
man turns a blessing from his door it falls to them as take it in." Eppy 
finally relieves the situation herself. She declines to recognize Godfrey 



85 



as her father, refuses to leave Silas for anyone, and concludes with, 
"He's took care of me and loved me from the first, and I'll cleave to 
him as long as he lives, and nobody shall ever come between him and 
me." This settles the matter, and Godfrey and Nancy depart. 

Chapter XX. Nancy and Godfrey determine to make the best of 
their lives. Godfrey realizes that Eppy's refusal to come to him is 
part of his punishment, and he meekly accepts the blow. 

Chapter XXI. Silas and Eppy pay a visit to Lantern Yard, but 
the village had undergone such changes during those^ many years, 
that, excepting Prison Street and the Workhouse, the place was utter- 
ly unrecognizable. Silas aches to meet someone he knew, and to dis- 
cuss with him the changes which had taken place in Lantern Yard. 
Silas could learn nothing from anyone of his old Lantern Yard friends, 
or of Mr. Paston, the minister, and although he pined to relieve his 
heart of his heavy burden, they made their way back home. To Eppy 
Lantern Yard appears like a prison house. 

Chapter XXII. (Conclusion.) Eppy is happily married to Aaron 
Winthrop. Silas Marner gives his adopted daughter away. Nancy 
provided Eppy's wedding dress. Mr. Macey congratulates Silas Mar- 
ner. Godfrey gave Eppy and Aaron a piece of his ground and a home, 
where, accompanied with Silas, they lived happily and cheerfully. 

Characterization: 

Silas Marner : Impressionable, self-doubting, trusting simplicity, de- 
fenceless, deer-like gaze, weak-minded, "mushed," narrow, slow, 
loving, vindictive, appreciative, human. 

Squire Cass : Authoritative, self-possessed, implacable, severe, unre- 
lenting, bull-headed, hot-headed, hospitable, stubborn, revengeful, 
vindictive. 

Dunstan Cass: Spiteful, jeering, intemperate, sneering, spendthrift, 
diabolical cunning, easy-going, irresponsible, disgusting. 

Godfrey Cass : Good-natured, open-faced, natural irresolution and 
moral cowardice, impetuous, domestic nature, affectionate. 

Mrs. Winthrop : Scrupulous conscience, dutiful, mild, a "comfortable 
woman," patient, grave, helpful, simple, devout, ministering. 

Nancy Cass : Propriety and moderation, calm, high veracity, delicate 
honor, deferential, refined, slightly proud, spirit of rectitude and 
sense of responsibility, intelligent, forgiving. 

Priscilla : Frank, outspoken, jolly, boisterous, blunt, good-natured, 
self-forgetful, cheerful, common sense. 

Eppie : Simple, sweet, charming, faithful, considerate, courteous, com- 
panionable, popular, loving. 

Climaxes in the Story: 

1. Silas is found guilty by the lots and leaves Lantern Yard. 

2. Silas's money is stolen. 

3. Silas finds Eppie and the dead "woman" ; he appears at the 
Cass's New Year's Party. 

4. Dunstan's body and Silas's money are found ; Godfrey con- 
fesses his past to Nancy. 

5. Eppie refuses to leave SiTrs to go with Nancy and Godfrey. 



86 



TWICE TOLD TALES (1837) 



Author : 

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 

(See "The House of Seven Gables" for life, works, etc.) 
The Tales : 

1. David Swan — A Fantasy: 

While waiting for a stage-coach, David Swan, a young man of 
twenty, fell asleep near a bubbling spring. Many kinds of people pass 
him, gaze in admiration, and leave him in his peaceful slumber. An 
elderly merchant and his wife alight from their carriage, temporarily 
damaged, notice the sleeping David, reflect over their disappointment 
in a distant relative, and their grief over their own departed son, are 
charmed by the slumbering lad, are about to awake him and take him 
to their hearts and fortune, when the coachman's "The coach is ready" 
startles the couple, dispels the idea of taking David as ridiculous, and 
the carriage rolls on, leaving David enjoy his nap. . . A pretty young, 
girl, desirous of tightening her slipping garter, innocently intrudes 
upon the slumbering David. Blushing, she is about to make her escape, 
when she notices a monster of a bee about to attack the sleeping 
youth. The girl drives the intruder off and begins to scan the hand- 
some lineaments of the young man. She is full of admiration and love 
for him ; but, fearing to awake him, she slowly passes along, leaving 
David Swan still asleep, entirely unconscious of the chance of love and 
fortune his slumber had robbed him. A couple of murderous rascals, 
planning a game of cards near the brook, find David sleeping. They 
are about to steal his bundle of belongings from under his head, and 
kill him were he to awake, when a hunting dog breaks in upon them, 
and fills the cowards with fear. They leave David Swan still asleep. 
At last he awakes, just in time to hail the coach, jumps aboard, en- 
tirely ignorant of the phantoms of Wealth, Love, and Death, that had 
hovered over him. 

2. The Prophetic Pictures. 

A young man of Boston, Walter Ludlow, engaged to Elinor, 
thinks it would be pleasant to have his portrait painted, in company 
with Elinor, by a distinguished artist then visiting the colonies. The 
painter, who has the knack of presenting not only the features and 
clothes, but the essential spirit of his subjects, outdoes himself in 
two half-length portraits of Walter and Elinor. At the same time he 
makes a crayon sketch of the two in an attitude which he thinks pos- 
sible, considering the characteristics of his two subjects. When 
Elinor sees this sketch she shrieks, and the painter warns her that 
it may not yet be too late to put off her marriage. Nevertheless she 
and Walter are married. The artist goes off on a long trip, to learn 
all he can from Nature, and when he comes back, feels that he must 
see again the two subjects which have been phantoms of his journey. 
Meanwhile Walter's face has been growing to look more and more 
like the portrait, and Elinor has been growing sadder and sadder, more 
and more nearly assuming the expressions which she bears in her 
picture, and has finally covered up both portraits with a heavy curtain. 



87 



Just as the painter enters the room where Elinor and Walter stand to- 
gether, looking at their pictures, which they happen at this moment to 
have uncovered, Walter seizes a knife to kill Elinor. The painter cries 
"Hold, madman !" and the husband becomes quieted, after which the 
author draws the following moral : No matter if we could know be- 
forehand what was going to happen, we could still go on and do that 
which seemed best to accord with our inclinations and affections. — 
Gaston. 

3. Mr. Higginbotham's Catastrophe. 

Dominicus Pike, a young tobacco-peddler, was on his way to Mor- 
ristown. He was well known as an inquisitive tatler. On meeting 
with a traveler, Pike learns that Mr. Higginbotham was murdered in 
his orchard by an Irishman and a negroe. He spreads this news 
through every village and country-store, so that it soon became a re- 
spectable narrative. An one inn, a farmer challenges the peddler's 
fabrication, and vouches to his — the farmer's — having personally spok- 
en to Mr. H. that very morning. Dominicus retires to a corner, crest-, 
fallen and defeated. The next morning, while on the high roads, he 
meets with a stranger of dark skin and begs for complete details re- 
garding the tragedy. The apprehensive negro hastily places the deed 
at the door of an Irishman. Ambiguous circumstances surrounding 
the crime throw Pike into a dilemma. But he spreads the concoction 
through Parker's Falls. This town is thrown into fury and excite- 
ment on hearing the news. As the peddler harangues the crowd on the 
calamity, a coach arrives with the niece of Mr. H. The young school- 
teacher alleges that she had just departed from her uncle, the same 
morning, and that he was then in the best of health. The angered 
crowd wishes to vent its satisfaction upon the head of Pike, but the 
intervention of the young lady saves him from severer treatment than 
he does receive. Later, when the peddler approaches Mr. H.'s orchard, 
he descries the vague figure of that gentleman in the distance, riding on 
horseback. But when Dominicus reaches the fated pear-tree, he dashes 
forward and does save the old man from the hands of a sturdy Irish- 
man who was about to murder Mr. H. Thus, Dominicus Pike is 
doubly perplexed when he asks Mr. H., "Have you been hanged or 
not?" As a reward for his bravery, he wins the hand of the sweet, 
young niece, and later, her uncle's fortune. 

4. The Minister's Black Veil. 

This is a half-gloomy, obscurely mystical story, in which Haw- 
thorne seems to have felt himself peculiarly in his own element. Each 
person is shut off from every other person by secret sins, which, though 
they would possibly seem trivial in the eyes of most men, certainly 
form about them a veil which prevents the true self from being seen 
by human eye — this is the theme. — G. 

Rev. Mr. Hooper, parson of Milford, startles his congregation and 
fellow-villagers by appearing before them in a black veil drawn over 
the upper part of his face. Mr. Hooper remains indifferent to the 
perturbation of his friends. His sermon deals with the subject of 
secret sin and of those who attempt to hide their misdeeds. At a 
funeral service the same afternoon, Rev. Hooper, still veiled, throws 
a spell of horror over all His similar appearance at a wedding that 



88 



evening turns the gala affair into a dismal and deathlike service. The 
next day a deputation of the church calls upon the minister to seek 
an explanation for the parson's strange behavior, but they return 
abashed and confused, to their constituents. Even Mr. Hooper's 
plighted wife fails to gain a satisfactory explanation, except that the 
veil was a symbol of separation and isolation. He suffers her leaving 
him rather than consent to the raising of the veil. The people's in- 
stinctive dread of their minister filled him with grief and remorse. 
It was evident that Mr. Hooper became a better sermonizer as time 
passed ; but it was also clear that he was drifting further away from 
his flock. On his death-bed he lay with the black veil swathed about 
his brow. Renowned ministers and bishops gathered about him to 
exhort him to lift the veil before he died. But their request met with 
resolute refusal. With his struggling and dying breath, he finally cries, 
"I look around me, and, lo ! on every visage a Black Veil !" The audi- 
tors shrank back from each other as Father Hooper fell — dead. 

5. Howe's Masquerade. 

The Province House is constructed of brick, and is, on the whole, 
one of the most time-honored mansions on Washington Street, Boston. 
Its spacious chambers, great staircases, carved balustrades, and cupolas 
make it an old, aristocratic edifice. At one of the entertainments given 
at the Province House, Sir William Howe, the British governor, plan- 
ned to hide the distress of England's cause under an ostentation of 
festivity. The broadest merriment was excited by a group of figures 
ridiculously dressed in old regimentals. These worthies represented 
by their decayed uniforms such illustrious personages as Washington, 
Gates, Lee, Putnam, Schuyler, and other principals of the American 
army. The presence of Colonel Joliffe, a famous Whig, created some 
surprise among the Tories. A mask of allegorical figures is suddenly 
staged, to the bewilderment of the Governor and his colleagues. A 
slow funeral march fills the British with apprehension. Then a stern- 
faced man appears, walking sedately, and carrying a tattered banner 
of England in one hand and a Bible in the other. Close behind comes 
a young man with a stain of blood upon his ruff. These, Col. Joliffe 
proudly interprets, represent the Puritan Governors of the past. One 
lord whispers, "There may be a plot under this mummery." But Gen. 
Howe brushes his fear aside with a "tush !" Then other representa- 
tive figures, each symbolical of a worthy in American History, pass 
across the floor, — Miss Joliffe interprets this ghastly procession as 
the knell of royal authority in New England. Next a portly gentle- 
man with a vexed and tormented aspect fills the guests with various 
emotions of anger, contempt, fear, and curiosity. A wild and dreary 
burst of music heralded the arrival of a figure with a stately and 
martial tread. "Villain, unmuffle yourself!" cried Howe. The mar- 
tial shape unblenchingly lowers his cape and fills the Governor with 
horror and bewilderment. By this time the beleaguering army of 
Washington had intrenched itself upon a nearer height, while the 
actors in the masquerade had vanished into deeper obscurity. Thus 
was celebrated the last festival of a British governor in Massachusetts. 

6. Lady Eleanor's Mantle. 

Lady Eleanor was a distant relative of Governor Shute of Massa- 



89 



chusetts. She was remarkable for her harsh, unyielding pride, haughti- 
ness, aloofness, and self-consciousness. Her queenly stateliness and 
irresistible charm are enhanced by an embroidered mantle said to have 
been the object upon which a dead woman threw a spell of dreadful 
potency. Her arrival at the Province House is accompanied by the 
strange tolling of the Old South Church for a funeral. A pale young 
man suddenly darts forward and prostrates himself under the alight- 
ing step of Lady Eleanor. This madman is Jervase Helwyze, scorned 
in his violent love for the proud damsel. At a ball given in her 
honor, Eleanor seems weary, scornful, wild, and unnatural. Four 
gentlemen pay her particular attention. At the height of the merri- 
ment, Jervase again appears, and, on his knee, begs his oppressor to 
take but one drop of the sparkling wine he offers. The young maniac 
is rebuffed, but, before he is forcibly ejected, he implores the Lady 
Eleanor to throw off her mantle. But she wraps herself the more 
tightly in it. A dreadful epidemic of Small Pox sweeps the country, 
and wipes out the lives of all of Lady Eleanor's admirers. Red flags 
marked the numerous houses in which the plague had made its fatal 
entrance. The Province House did not escape from the virulent mon- 
ster, but Lady Eleanor seemed temporarily immune. The people raved 
again at the nob]e lady, and threw all responsibility for the blight 
upon her and the gorgeous mantle. Again Jervase forces his way 
in to Eleanor's chamber where he finds the noble woman moaning in 
pain. She confesses to her having wrapped herself in Pride as in a 
Mantle, and scorned the sympathies of nature. With malice and bit- 
terness, Jervase now revels like a maniac in the downfall of his queen 
and princess. That night Eleanor's effigy, enveloped in a richly em- 
broidered mantle, is burned. Jervase Helwyze carried the red flag of 
the Province House in the van. And it was said that the pestilence 
abated with the burning of Lady Eleanor's Mantle. 

7. Old Esther Dudley. 

Esther Dudley, an aged woman, daughter of an ancient and once 
eminent family, perfoms the nominal duties of caretaker in the old 
Province House. She refuses to leave the House even upon the de- 
parture of the last Royal Governor, Sir William Howe. Instead she 
vows to wait there until the arrival and return of another Royal Gov- 
ernor. Her pertinacity wins for her the key to the House, as Howe 
bitterly leaves forever the aged mansion. From then Mistress Dudley 
remained the undisturbed supervisor of the affairs in the Province 
House. It was later rumored by many that Old Esther Dudley fre- 
quently called upon all or any of the Royal Governors who would 
answer her call through a magic mirror, long blurred by the pageantry 
of governors. It was also said that there sometimes assembled a few 
of the staunch, though crestfallen, old Tories, who had lingered in the 
town during those days of wrath and tribulation. At such meetings 
they would drink to the health of the King and treason to the Re- 
public. Her most frequent guests were the children of the village who 
played about her hoop petticoat. But as time passed, Old Esther 
Dudley appeared to have grown partially crazed. She continually 
imagined that an imminent victory of the King's army was carrying 
with it the return of the royal regime. Under such delusions, she 



90 



would oft dress herself in her faded best and illuminate the entire 
House as if awaiting the early coming of her invited guests. And when 
she finally did hear the tramp of many footsteps, her weak heart palpi- 
tated with joy, as she rushed forth to welcome the new Governor with 
her intrusted key. But on seeing John Hancock, the people's chosen 
Governor of Massachusetts, Old Esther begs for Death, as her last 
breath utters "God save the King!" Thus the Past makes way for the 
fresh and rosy Future. 

8. Dr. Heidegger's Experiment. 

Three white-bearded gentlemen and a withered gentlewoman are 
invited as old time friends, to the study of the scientist and philosopher, 
This study was filled with many curiosities, ranging from a skeleton to 
ponderous folios with massive silver clasps. Dr. H. then revivifies a 
withered rose by dropping it into a vase of bubbling water. Then the 
four skeptics hear of the Fountain of Youth of Ponce de Leon, and are 
willing to undergo the Doctor's experiment of rejuvination. They 
drink the glasses filled with the water of the Fountain of Youth, and 
gradually a new vitality seems to permeate their bodies. The old 
gentlemen are jubilant, and demand more of the wonderful fluid. 
They pay the now charming and girlish widow the most complimentary 
respect and attention. They dance in their youthful glee, sing songs, 
deliver speeches of old, while the "young" widow courtesied and 
simpered to her own image m the mirror. The old men raise such a 
racket over the girl-widow that they overthrow the vase with the 
"magic" liquid, and are suddenly overcome by a strange chillness. 
They felt themselves old again, disillusioned by the truth. Dr. H. 
then expresses his opinon that were the Fountain of Youth at his very 
door-step, he would not bathe his lips in it. 

9. Peter Goldthwaite's Treasure. 

Peter refuses to sell his house to his old-time partner, Mr. Brown ; 
but prefers to tear it downj inside first, in order to find a treasure 
supposedly hidden somewheres in the walls. The "crack-brained sim- 
pleton" tells Tabitha Porter, an old maid, of his intentions, while the 
latter prepares the fire-place to receive the wood. After the first day's 
wrecking, Peter's treasure consists of old rags, rusty swords, broken 
phials, and miscellaneous other whatnots. He still appears exuberant, 
even though the house is by this time nothing but a shell. Old Tabitha 
is of the opinion that the former Peter had made over the house to 
the Old Scratch — the Devil — and had received what later turned out 
to be but a chest of old rags. Undaunted, our Peter continues his 
work of destruction, and finally finds an old parchment, a lamp, and 
a bottle of old wine. Encouraged by this find, Peter finally reaches 
the kitchen and works like a steam-engine. On this cold, winter day, 
the benevolent Mr. Brown flounders through the snow to offer the 
"Destroyer" his best wishes. He arrives just in time to see Peter re- 
lease a large chest from the wall near the chimney. On opening this, 
instead of dazzling gold, a pile of old, useless treasury-notes, long de- 
preciated and valueless, is revealed to the stupified Peter. Disgusted 
and disappointed, the foolish and deluded Peter accepts Mr. Brown's 
offer, and turns his affairs over to his former partner. Such was his 



91 



reward for the search that nearly brought his own house upon his 
head. 

10. The Great Carbuncle. 

Around the same fire and within the roar of the Amonoosuck 
River sat seven men and one young woman, all bent on finding the 
marvelous stone called the "Great Carbuncle/' The motives of this 
varied group harmonized with their respective characters. The eldest, 
a weather-beaten man of sixty, was called the Seeker., To him the 
Carbuncle was the energy of his soul, and when once he should find it, 
he would lie down in some hidden cavern and die in contentment. 
Then there was a Doctor Capaphodel, a supposed-to-be chemist and 
alchemist, who planned to gain an accurate analysis of the gem — 
when once he had found it — and bestow the result of his labors upon 
the world, in a folio volume. The third was a wealthy merchant and 
selectman of Boston, Master Ichabod Pigsnort, by name, who expected 
to dispose of the gem to the best bidder among the potentates of the 
world. The fourth wore a huge pair of spectacles, and was generally 
distinguished by his sneer that always contorted his thin visage. He 
was a Cynic, and had undertaken the enterprise solely for the purpose 
of demonstrating to the world that the Great Carbuncle was all hum- 
bug. Lord de Vere was a haughty noble who resolved to place the 
gem in the hall of his ancestral castle. Then there was a poet from 
Grub Street, who expected to drink in the radiance of the stone, and 
thus become the most renowned poet of the world. Finally came 
Matthew, a young rustic, and his blooming, little bride, Hannah, who 
anticipated nothing more from the Carbuncle than the bright lustre 
it would shed in their cottage during long, winter evenings. . . The 
next morning the young couple awake to see all their companions 
long departed. Fearlessly at first, they climb to the topmost peaks 
of snow and cloud-covered mountains. The vapors soon hide them 
from each other, and they realize that they had lost their way. But 
a sudden splendor breaking in upon them reveals the long-sought 
shrine of the Great Carbuncle. They soon behold the dead body of 
the Seeker lying at the base of the cliff. The Cynic, too, is there, but 
he still maintains that all is humbug. On removing his spectacles, 
however, the Truth blinds him, for once, and berefts him of sight 
forever. The young couple turn their backs upon the blazing jewel, 
content to make the best of the sun and the moon for light in their 
home. The merchant also turns away, only to be captured by a war 
party of Indians, paying the latter a large ransom for his- freedom. 
Dr. Cacaphodel continues his researches, now upon a large piece of 
granite ; while the Poet substitutes a great piece of ice for the wonder- 
ful gem. Lord de Vere satisfied himself with a wax-lighted chandelier. 
The Cynic is consumed in the great fire of London. Matthew and his 
bride live long and happily after to tell the tale of the Great Car- 
buncle. 

11. The Ambitious Guest. 

In the Notch of the White Hills a happy family sat about the 
crackling fire-place. Above their house towered a steep mountain 
from which tumbling rocks often rumbled on their way down. As a 
dreary blast waled past, a traveler entered the tavern. As the frank- 



92 



hearted stranger approached the fire, a stone was heard rushing past 
the house. The guest was a solitary, but ambitions youth, who was 
conscious of his not having as yet made any mark in the world. His 
sentiments threw the good family into a fit of musing and conjecture 
of their past accomplishments and future plans. Even the children 
in their bed-room suddenly began to vie with one another in wild 
wishes and childish projects. One, a boy, startled his mother with 
the request that all start out to the Flume for a drink. A passing 
wagon stopped momentarily, and then was heard far below the 
Notch. Then a young girl uttered fanciful words, that, together with 
the funereal wind, combined to fill all with presentiments of impend- 
ing fear. An old grandmother joined in with her superstitious story 
of corpses that arranged their apparel correctly. The guest here 
chimed in with his belief that all dream of graves and monuments. A 
moment later a roar was heard, the house trembled, and the occupants 
simultaneously shrieked, "The Slide ! The Slide !" They rushed out — 
but, alas! right into the pathway of destruction. . . The victims were 
never found. The next morning found the house as the inhabitants 
head left it. . . "Woe for the high-sounded youth, with his dream 
of Earthly Immortality!" 



A TALE OF TWO CITIES (1859) 

Author : 

CHARLES DICKENS— "The Novelist of Reform/' 

Born at Landport, England, February 7, 1812. Died at Gads- 
hill, England, June 9, 1870. Born in a poverty-stricken family; 
was an attorney's clerk, newspaper reporter, journalist, social re- 
former, moralist, born actor, dramatic reader, and lecturer. He 
was self-educated, and was later very charitable. He was a keen 
observer with an active imagination. 
Criticism : 

Sentimental, extreme sensibility, excessive imagination, 
wealth of detail and romance, dramatic and melodramatic, humor- 
ist, pathetic, horrible and grotesque, grandiloquent, tender, didac- 
tic ; characters are caricatures each with an exaggerated 
peculiarity. "He cast the sunshine of pathos and of genial mirth 
over the humblest, dullest, and most uninviting of our fellow 
creatures ; he paints a vast range of ordinary humanity, and suf- 
fering or wearied humanity, but he speaks for it and lives in it 
himself." "His terse narrative power, often intensely humorous 
in its unblushing and unwinking gravity, and often deeply pathetic 
in its simplicity ; and supreme felicity of phrase." Dickens created 
for art the London of the middle and poorer classes. "His vivacity, 
his versatility, his comic vigor are so extraordinary that our in- 
terest in the show never flags ; Dickens leads up rapidly through 
the thronged mazes of a fairyland, now comic, now sentimental, 
now horrific, of which we know him at all times to be the creator, 



93 



and it is merely part of his originality and cleverness that he 
manages to clothe these radically phantasmal figures with the 
richest motley robes of actual, humdrum, 'realistic' observation." 

Works : 

"Pickwick Papers," "Oliver Twist," "Nicholas Nickleby," 
"The Old Curiosity Shop," "Sketches by Boz," "Barnaby Rudge," 
"Martin Chuzzlewit," "The Chimes," "A Christmas Carol," "The 
Cricket on the Hearth," "Our Mutual Friend," "David Copper- 
field," "Dombey and Son," "Bleak House," "Hard Times,'-' "Little 
Dorrit," "Great Expectations." 

Book 1 — Recalled to Life 
Chapter I — The Period : Directly preceding the French Revolu- 
tion, about 1775. In the poverty of the lower classes and the oppres- 
sive cruelty of the ruling classes were the sources of the revolution ; 
fear that it might happen in England ; a period of confusion and clash- 
ing opinions, when old and cherished institutions were crumbling and 
new and dubious ones were beginning to appear. On the English 
throne were George III., famous in two nations for his obstinacy, and 
his Queen, Charlotte, who was stout and homely. On the throne of 
France were Louis XVI. and the beautiful Marie Antoinette, daughter 
of the Emperor of Austria. The aristocracy and ruling classes, who 
lived in luxury at the expense of the common people, were also the 
Lords of the State preserves. It was a period of unheard-of-deaths, the 
guillotine, daring burglaries, suspicion, the hangman, mob-fights, and 
over-shadowing clouds. 

Chapter II — The Dover Mail : On the mail coaches were con- 
stantly carried arms and ammunition for protection, for the roads in 
the immediate neighborhood of London were infested with highway- 
men. The three wrapped-up passengers of the Dover Mail, suspicious 
and ignorant of each other, plod along the coach as the horses struggle 
up Shooter's Hill. Besides^ the coachman and the guard keep a keen 
watch on the movements of their passengers. Suddenly a mounted 
rider appears on the moonlit road, and after calling for a Mr. Jarvis 
Lorry, the latter is reluctantly permitted to read the dispatch which 
informs him to wait at Dover for "Mam-selle." Mr. Lorry gives Jerry, 
the messenger, the mysterious reply of "Recalled to Life." 

Chapter III— The Night Sradows : A great city by night is an 
awful and a palpitating secret. Jerry is perplexed over the wording of 
the message, "Recalled to Life" ; Mr. Lorry continues his journey, and 
muses over his mission, "to dig someone out of a grave" ; he has an 
imaginary discourse with the person buried about eighteen years. 

Chapter IV — The Preparation : Mr. Lorry stops at the Royal 
George Hotel at Dover and prepares to receive Miss Manette and to 
cross to Paris. Mr. Lorry continually tells Miss Manette that he is a 
"man of business," and cautiously reveals to the young lady her life- 
history : that he had been one of the trustees who looked after Dr. 
Manette's affairs ; that Mrs. Manette had died two years after her 
husband disappeared ; that Mr. Lorry brought Lucy to London ; that 
Dr. Manette had been a victim of a "lettre de cachet," whereby a king's 
favorite might have his enemies imprisoned indefinitely after inscrib- 
ing their names in these "lettres de cachet"; that Dr. Manette was 



94 



now at the house of an old servant, and that they were going to identify 
and restore him to life, love, duty, rest, comfort. Lucy faints and is 
restored by a strong-armed woman, Miss Pross. 

Chapter V — The Wine Shop : The scene is St. Antoine, a section 
of Paris in the neighborhood of the Bastille, filled with a desperate and 
dangerous population. St. Antoine was well called "The Patron Saint 
of the Revolution." A wine cask is broken in a street full of dirt and 
stench, and the cold, hungry, filthy, sickly and ignorant "rats" run out 
and tigerishly lick, scoop, sip and sponge it us. One scrawls the word 
"Blood" on the wall (this produces an atmosphere of ominous expecta- 
tion). The wine-shop is owned by Monsieur and Madam Defarge. 
Every movement of the latter, particularly her knitting, is very sig- 
nificant. The frequenters are called "Jaques," a pass-word among the 
peasant revolutionists. Mr. Lorry and Miss Manette are led through 
the dingy little back courtyard, and up steep, creaking staircases by 
Monsieur Defarge to the secluded garret of the "Shoemaker," Dr. 
Manette. 

Chapter VI — The Shoemaker: With haggard eyes, faint voice, 
wild stare, and dull, blank, and narrow gaze, the shoemaker mechan- 
ically and absent-mindedly plies his work. His mind wanders. He is 
slow to perceive and understand. He has to be recalled and reminded 
to answer simple questions. He says his name is "105 North Tower." 
He is helpless. He strains himself to recognize his visitors. He seems 
to be temporarily successful. He stares at Lucy, sighs, and gazes back 
to his work. Taking a quantity of hair from a rag about his neck, he 
compares it with Lucy's. He thinks Lucy to be her mother. Scared, 
frightened and bewildered, the shoemaker submits, descends the stairs 
and enters the coach. He begs for his shoemaking tools and unfinished 
shoes. They are driven to the Barrier and then to London; the "Life 
has been Recalled." 

Book II— The Golden Thread 

Chapter I — Five Years Later (1780) : Tellson's Bank by Temple 
Bar was small, ugly, incommodious, and — proud if it. The money, the 
documents and the employees were all alike, musty and dusty. Jerry 
Cruncher was Tellson's odd-job man. Mrs. Cruncher's "flopping" 
(praying) is entirely unwelcome to Jerry who calls his wife "Agger- 
awayter" and the root of his hard luck. Jerry, Jr. helps his father as 
proxy. Mr. Cruncher gets an early job that day. 

Chapter II— A Sight : Jerry goes to Old Bailey to serve as Mr. 
Lorry's messenger. Tyburn was a street infamous for its hangings, 
debauchery, villainy, pillory, whipping-post, and blood-money. Trials 
at Old Bailey were "shows" and "entertainments." A man was guilty 
before proven innocent. A young gentleman is led in a prisoner, the 
object of ogreish staring and blaring. He was quiet and self-possessed. 
Charles Darnay had been indicted as Traitor for revealing to the 
French King Louis data of England's forces to be sent <to America. 
The court is strewn with herbs and sprinkled with vinegar, as a pre- 
caution against jail air and jail fever. Lucy and her father tensely 
watch the trial, as witnesses. 

Chapter III — A Disappointment : Dickens cleverly satirizes the 
elaborate, insincere, extravagant, bombastic speech of the Attorney- 



95 



General, in which the latter worships the jury, glorifies his witnesses 
and himself, gloats over his damning evidence, and considers the 
prisoner already as good as dead and gone. John Barsad, spy and profli- 
gate, testifies. He is followed by the "immaculate" patriot, Roger Cly 
(Darnay's servant.) Mr. Lorry testifies that he met Darnay on the 
packetship crossing the Channel, five years ago, when Dr. Manette was 
"recalled to life." Lucy and her father give damaging testimony 
against Darnay. "A wigged gentleman always looking at the ceiling" 
writes something on a piece of paper and throws it over to Mr. Stryver, 
the defendant's lawyer. The identity of the wigged gentleman (Mr. 
Sydney Carton) and Darnay seems remarkable, for they might be 
easily mistaken for each other. The evidence of the prosecution is thus 
smashed and shivered. Mr. Stryver proves Barsad a traitor and Cly a 
forger and perjurer; likewise, that all the evidence was a bloated ex- 
aggeration of the facts. Lucy faints and all sympathize. The jury 
brings in a verdict of acquittal. 

Chapter IV — Congratulatory: Charles Darnay is congratulated 
by all. Dr. Manette regards Darnay with fear and strangeness. Car- 
ton's share in the trial seems to go unnoticed. Carton and Darnay dine 
and Lucy becomes the subject of conversation. Carton confesses him- 
self to be a disappointing and a disappointed drudge, hopeless and lost. 

Chapter V — The Jackal: Mr. Stryver's accomplishments as a 
lawyer were great. His memory and Jackal was Sydney ..Carton. Until 
three in the morning the two drink their way through mountains 
of legal papers, during which Sydney applies an untold number of 
wet-towels to his head and bumpers of wine, brandy and rum to his 
throat. Conversation runs from the "back-number" Sydney Carton 
to the "pretty witness," Miss Manette. Sydney retires "sensible of the 
blight on him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away." 

Chapter VI — Hundreds of People : The Manettes lived in a quiet, 
free, and cool spot near Soho Square. Miss Pross complains to Mr. 
Lorry of the "hundreds of people" who turn to look after her "Lady- 
bird," Miss Lucy. She tells of the Doctor's relapses, his walking up 
and dpwn, and Lucy's part in bringing her father back to himself. 
Darnay's story of the dungeon in the Tower where the letters "D I G" 
were cut upsets Dr. Manette who starts up and looks terrified. "A 
multitude of people and yet solitude !" says Darnay. Sydney 
arrives. The echoing and re-echoing of footsteps in the rain, fore- 
shadow "the great crowds bearing down upon us" of Sydney Carton. 

Chapter VII — Monseigneur in Town: Dickens satirizes the aris- 
tocrats and nobles of France : their insane degree of luxury, their 
bloated superiority, their withering scorn of all mankind, their vast 
halls filled with fawning men, andMhe "leprosy of unreality" about 
all their "frizzling and powdering and superficial hypocricy." The car- 
riage of Monsieur the Marquis recklessly crushes a child. He tosses 
a coin to the shrieking father and regards the crowds as if they had 
been mere rats to come out of their homes. Suddenly the coin he had 
given to the philosophic Defarge comes flying into his carriage. "You 
dogs !" he exclaims and dashes on. So do the carriages of the other 
officials and nobles whirl, and the "rats" creep out to see this "Fancy 
Ball" roll on. 

Chapter VIII — Monseigneur in the Country: The village, so 

96 



overwhelmed by all description of taxes, showed the well-known signs 
of the poverty and oppression prevailing. All faces drooped before the 
eyes of the Marquis. The mender of roads tells the Marquis of the man 
swinging by the chain of his carriage. Monsiegneur turns a deaf ear to 
the widow's plea for a grave-stone. 

Chapter IX — The Gorgon's Head: In his luxurious chateau the 
Marquis expects his nephew, Charles Darnay. Uncle and nephew dis- 
cuss their family's fall into popular detestation. Repression and 
slavery for the "dogs" is the lasting philosophy of the Marquis. Such 
a system is frightful to Charles who is democratic and determined to 
renounce his inheritance. The Marquis retires, smiling mysteriously 
when he learns of Darnay's acquaintance with a refugee Doctor and a 
daughter. As the night wears creepily away, and the morning brings 
with it the usual doings, Monsieur the Marquis is found dead with a 
dagger in his heart. Upon a frill of paper is scrawled : "Drive him fast 
to his tomb. This, from Jaques." 

Chapter X — Two Promises : Charles Darnay, now a teacher of 
French in London, reveals his love for Lucy to Dr. Manette who 
rather fearfully and nervously receives this confession. Dr. Manette 
promises to place full faith in Darnay's intentions. When Darnay 
wishes to confide his real name to the Doctor, the latter stops him and 
makes Charles promise not to unfold it until his marriage morning — 
if his suit should prosper. 

Chapter XI — A Companion Picture: Stryver boasts of his gal- 
lantry, agreeableness, and general success in life. Sidney Carton 
"takes it all in" quietly. Stryver reveals his intention of courting Miss 
Manette and expresses his absolute self-confidence in the success of 
his venture. He advises Sydney to follow his style of life and get mar- 
ried. "I'll think of it," says Sydney. 

Chapter XII — The Fellow of Delicacy: Stryver disturbs the aged 
dust of Tellson's Bank by "dropping in" to see Mr. Lorry on a matter 
of business. He loudly announces his intention of offering himself in 
marriage to Lucy. Stryver is highly insulted by Mr. Lorry's disparag- 
ing insinuations. Mr. Lorry promises Stryver to let him know how 
strong or weak his chances are with Miss Manette. When informed 
that he stands little chance, Stryver gets "cold feet" about marrying, 
and is sorry that he ever troubled Mr. Lorry and himself about the 
whole matter. 

Chapter XIII — The Fellow of No Delicacy : Sydney Carton visits 
Lucy, reveals his true, hopeless self to her, professes a great love for 
her, banishes all hope of his own reclamation, and finally offers to 
sacrifice his life whenever it might "keep a life you love beside you." 

Chapter XIV — The Honest Tradesman : A London mob breaks 
up a mock funeral of a supposed-to-be "spy" (Roger Cly.) The 
mournful spectacle is changed into one of general rejoicing and hilarity. 
Jerry Cruncher takes a particular interest in this procession. On 
reaching his home, he delivers his customary lecture on "flopping" to 
his poor, hard-working, pious wife. That night, when all are asleep, 
he steals out on a "fishing" trip, taking with him a crowbar, rope, and 
chain. Jerry, Jr., however, follows his father to a graveyard where 
bis parent and two other "fishers" dig out a coffin and manoeuvre mys- 
teriously. Then little Jerry "flies" home. The next morning Mr. 



97 



Cruncher is very much out of sorts. He appears disappointed, and 
lets it all out upon his "flopping" wife. 

Chapter XV — Knitting: Monsieur Defarge arrives with the 
mender of roads. The latter narrates in detail in a private room the 
capture, imprisonment and execution of the Jaques who murdered the 
Marquis. After private consultation the conspiring Jaques agree upon 
the extermination of the Chateau and all the race "as revenge for the 
death of one of their martyrs." At Versailles, the mender of roads 
feasts upon the splendid pageant of nobility. Madam Defarge is al- 
ways busy knitting. Sardonically, Madam Defarge sends the mender 
of roads home, after she had worked him up to a fever of revenge. 

Chapter XVI — Still Knitting: The Defarges return home and 
are informed of the arrival of a spy, one John Barsad. Madam Defarge 
encourages her impatient husband with promises that once vengeance 
and retribution come, it will have paid for the long delay. The next 
day, the spy arrives, but Madam's knitting and curt reply prove a fine 
match for the shrewd inquisitor. The wineshop becomes slowly and 
unnoticeably cleared of its occupants during the presence of the spy. 
Barsad notifies the Defarges of Lucy's marriage to Charles Darnay. 
Madam knits steadily. Defarge calls his wife "a frightfully grand 
woman." 

Chapter XVII — One Night: Dr. Manette passionately recalls 
his past happiness, his dear home life, his beloved wife, his imprison- 
ment, and Lucy's arrival to restore him. He thanks God, upon this 
night before Lucy's marriage to Charles, for the happiness bestowed 
upon him by his daughter. 

Chapter XVIII — Nine Days: Miss Pross calls Lorry a "born 
bachelor." The parting between father and daughter, after the church 
ceremony, is touching. Lucy's marriage to a man whose real identity 
only the doctor seemed to know as yet, drives Dr. Manette to his 
shoemaking mania. Mr. Lorry and Miss Pross keep a constant watch 
over him for nine days. While Lucy is away she remained uncon- 
scious of this new attack and is happy with her Charles. 

Chapter XIX — An Opinion : On the tenth day the Doctor puts 
away his tools and is his normal self again. Making believe that the 
Doctor's relapse is that of a personal friend, Mr. Lorry asks Dr. 
Manette what he would suggest that his friend should do; what 
treatment should be applied in case of a repetition of such an attack. 
Dr. Manette advises, with subconscious pain, that the blacksmith's 
tools should be taken away during the absence of the person. Mr. 
Lorry carries out the Doctor's advice by destroying and burying Dr. 
Manette's shoemaking tools during one of the latter's visits to Lucy. 

Chapter XX — A Plea : Sydney Carton wishes to be friends with 
Darnay and asks for the privilege of visiting Lucy and him at their 
home. Lucy begs Charles to pay more consideration and respect to 
Sydney Carton, for she has seen his heart "bleeding," and knows that 
he is capable of "magnanimous things." 

Chapter XXI — Echoing Footsteps : Lucy hears in the echoes of 
^years none but friendly and soothing sounds. Dr. Manette is more 
cheerful than ever. Charles is progressing comfortably. Stryver is 
the prosperous father of three "lumps of bread and cheese." Sydney 

99 



Carton comes and goes as he promised. Mr. Lorry is becoming older 
and grayer. Threatening echoes press on Lucy's mind. 

In St. Antoine at the same moment, the French Revolution is at 
its height. The mad and roaring sea of people is being led by the 
bloody Defarges against the Bastile which thousands of Jaquerie 
storm. Monsieur Defarge is directed to "105 North Tower" where 
he makes a close search of the cell bearing on one of its walls, "A. M." 
(Alexander Manette.) Outside the people are surging and tossing, 
gone mad and thirsty for more blood. 

Chapter XXII — The Sea Still Rises : Upon the news that old 
Foulon, the extortioner, the plotter, "who would make the people eat 
grass," was alive and caught at the City Hall, the people are thrown 
into a frenzied rush. Women, famished and naked, men, bloody and 
✓beastly, screaming and tearing and beating, fly madly towards the 
Hotel. The old man is dragged out. An emblematic bundle of grass 
is tied on his back. A garland of nettles and thistles is around his 
neck. Led by ropes, goaded on with curses and menaces, Foulon is 
caught up shrieking, and his head is soon upon a pike. The wolf- 
procession passes on. "At last it has come, my dear!" "Almost," 
replies Mr. Defarge. 

Chapter XXIII — Fire Rises : The castle of Monseigneur, the Mar- 
quis, is set afire by Jaques, who has been directed by the mender of 
roads, also a Jaques. The conflagration rises and brightens everything 
around. Monsieur Gabelle tries to escape, but is finally captured and 
imprisoned by the people and patriots. 

Chapter XXIV — Drawn to the Loadstone Rock : Three years 
pass — 1792: Tellson's Banks in Paris and London 'become the High 
Exchanges during the French Revolution. Mr. Lorry tells Charles 
Darnay that business makes it imperative for him, notwithstanding 
his advanced age, to go to Paris. Charles himself has been restless and 
thoughtful about going to his native country. A letter addressed to 
"Monsieur heretofore the Marquis St. Evremonde" has reached Tell- 
son's and no one seems to know the gentleman addressed. Stryver 
insultingly boasts his luck in not knowing that "craven coward." Dar- 
nay quietly volunteers to transfer the letter to Evremonde amid the 
sneers of the bystanders. When alone, he reads of Gabelle's arrest and 
appeals to the Marquis (now Charles Darnay) to come and save, an 
innocent life. Charles resolves to go to Paris alone. He asks Mr. 
Lorry to inform Gabelle, a prisoner in Paris, that Evremonde "will 
start upon his journey to-morrow night." Charles writes letters of 
farewell to Lucy and her father while he himself "floats away for the 
Loadstone Rock" (a mythical rock that by magnetic attraction drew 
ships to destruction upon it). 

Book III — The Track of a Storm 

Chapter I — In Secret : Charles is frequently questioned by citizen 
patriots of the dawning Republic, — One and Indivisible, of Liberty, 
Equality, Fraternity, or Death. There was a universal watchfulness. 
He is insultingly called an "Emigrant," and is sent to Paris under a 
paid escort (those of the nobility who fled for safety to England or 
over the German border were called "Emigrants." By a decree, emi- 
grants were condemned to perpetual banishment, confiscation of prop- 



99 



erty, loss of civil rights, and death within twenty-four hours, if found 
on French' soil.) Darnay is roughly and peremptorily consigned as a 
prisoner to the Prison of LaForce. Defarge refuses to do anything 
for Charles. Darnay is led through halls where the "ghosts" of the 
fallen aristocracy are all prisoners, awaiting their fate, while he is 
thrown into a cell "in secret." 

Chapter II — The Grindstone : Mr. Lorry, arrived at Tellson's in 
Paris, beholds on the opposite side of the court-yard, the horrible 
sight of the people sharpening their bloody knives on a roughly 
mounted grindstone. Dr. Manette and Lucy breathlessly rush in and 
inform Mr. Lorry of Charles' presence in Paris and of his imprison- 
ment at LaForce. The hideous scene below, where the howling mob, 
with staring, glaring, bloody, and sweaty faces, are sharpening their 
hatchets and knives, bayonets and swords, appeals to Dr. Manette. 
He rushes out, is swallowed up by them, and a thousand shouts soon 
hail the "Bastille prisoner" with "Save the prisoner Evremonde at 
La Force!" 

Chapter III — The Shadow: Monsieur Defarge brings Mr. Lorry 
a note from Dr. Manette with the information that Charles is safe 
and that the bearer has a note for Lucy from Charles. Darnay's note 
gives Lucy courage and mentions the Doctor's influence in the city. 
Madam Defarge closely scrutinizes Miss Pross, Lucy, and her child. 
She coldly receives Lucy's supplication of help. The Defarges seem to 
throw a dark shadow on all of Lucy's hopes. 

Chapter IV — Calm in Storm : Dr. Manette comes back after an 
absence of three whole days. He describes his experiences to Mr. 
Lorry. His plea to the self-appointed Tribunal, his influence and popu- 
larity as a notable sufferer, and his appearance procure for Charles 
an inviolate and safe custody in the Hall of Blood. Dr. Manette's life 
is now an anxious one ; but a life with a new sustaining pride in it. 
The time is not yet ripe to obtain Darnay's freedom. The period is still 
turbulent and the "law of the suspected" is still rigidly applied. The 
sharp Female called "La Guillotine" is still the busy "National Razor 
which shaved close." The doctor's pains and activity never cease but 
rather grow in potency. A year and three months pass. r 

Chapter V — The Wood-sawyer : During this time, and with such 
grim scenes about her, Lucy keeps up her courage. Every day, for 
two hours, in all weathers, she stations herself at a certain spot from 
which Charles might get a glimpse of her and little Lucy. A wood- 
sawyer, nearby, imitates the Guillotine with his saw and, as billet fol- 
lowed billet, this inquisitive fellow would say, "Tickle, tickle ; pickle, 
pickle! And off its head comes. All the family." Lucy, frightened and 
bewildered, witnesses the horrible Carmagnole, the revolutionary 
song and dance, in which the people go spinning and dancing, scream- 
ing and yelling, clutching, tearing, like thousands of raving demons. 
The Doctor informs Lucy that Darnay's trial is to take place the next 
day. 

Chapter VI — Triumph : Fifteen prisoners are condemned to the 
Guillotine, and the trials of the whole fifteen occupy only an hour 
and a half. Charles Evremonde is now called. The turbulent court- 
room is filled with the lowest, crudest, and worst populace of the city, 
who, by their applauding, commenting, disapproving, anticipating and 



100 



precipitating the result, were the directing spirits of the judges. The 
evidence of Gabelle and Dr. Manette, added to the truthful facts of 
the case, draws the sympathy of the fickle audience, and Charles is 
acquitted with acclamation. Five prisoners following, are all hastily 
s condemned to die as if to compensate the nation for freeing Darnay. 
Dr. Manette is carried home in triumph upon the shoulders of a con- 
fused sea of red caps. The Carmagnole follows like a wild orgie. Lucy 
and Charles are reunited. 

Chapter VII — A Knock at the Door: Lucy still fears for the 
saftey of Charles. Miss Pross and Jerry Cruncher go out to market 
and purchase necessary articles. The two are allied in their loyalty, 
frankly declared and openly expressed, to His Most gracious Majesty, 
King George the Third. Meanwhile, a knock is heard, and four rough 
men in red caps, Defarge among them, enter and arrest Charles. Dr. 
Manette demands an explanation, and Defarge replies that Evremonde 
is accused by St. Antoine, denounced by Citizen and Citizeness De- 
farge and "one other." 

Chapter VIII — A Hand at Cards : Mr. Cruncher and Miss Pross, 
while out on a shopping-trip, stop at Defarge's wineshop. There Miss 
Pross recognizes and loudly welcomes her brother Solomon whom Mr. 
Cruncher identifies as the spy who testified against Darnay at his 
London trial. Sydney suddenly appears and identifies Solomon as 
John Barsad. Sydney proposes that Barsad follow him to Mr. Lorry's, 
and the embarrassed spy reluctantly consents. Carton threatens 
Barsad by calling him a spy in the pay of the aristocratic English 
Government, an enemy of France and Freedom, and friend and fellow- 
sheep to Cly, another spy against the Republic. Barsad claims Cly to 
be long dead and buried, and offers to show the death-certificate. Jerry 
Cruncher suddenly breaks in and gives Barsad the lie. Excitedly, 
Jerry narrates how the spy, Cly, was supposed to have been buried, but 
that in truth the coffin was really filled with stones (Jerry's "Fishing" 
trips to the graveyard made him an authority on the subject of the 
dead.) Incidently, Jerry becomes important in the plot. This revela- 
tion supplies Carton with his "trump card," and upon being threatened 
with denunciation, Barsad submits to Sydney's "hand of trumps." 
-Since Barsad is a turnkey at the Conciergierie (the prison), and has 
free access and egress, Sydney sees his way a little clearer. 

Chapter IX — The Game Made : Mr. Lorry reprimands Jerry 
for his unlawful occupation as a "Resurrection Man of an Agricultural 
Character," and refuses to listen to the garrulous apologies of his 
pseudo-messenger. Carton has meanwhile privately obtained for him- 
self the means of access to Darnay, if it should go ill with the prisoner. 
Carton compares Mr. Lorry's truthful career with his own usless self. 
The wood-sawer tells Carton of the good work the Barber (La 
Guillotine) was doing. Sydney visits a chemist's shop and buys some 
opiates. He wanders about the sleeping city and repeats the words 
which he remembers were read over his father's grave : "I am the 
resurrection and the life, saith the Lord ; he that believeth in me, 
though he were dead, yet he shall live : and whosoever liveth and be- 
lieveth in me, shall never die." Morning comes and Sydney goes to 
court to hear Charles denounced by the Defarges and Dr. Manette 
himself. The Doctor indignantly protests and denies the charge 



101 



against his son-in-law. But a paper written in blood by the Doctor 
during his long imprisonment and found by Defarge in 105 North 
Tower during the storming of the Bastile, contains the Doctor's con- 
demnation of Charles and his whole noble family. 

Chapter X — The Substance of the Shadow : Dr. Manette's paper 
is read : "I am stopped one day by two noblemen in a carriage which 
later carries me into the suburbs, to a magnificent chateau owned by 
the Evremondes. There I treat a patient, a young girl about twenty, 
who seems to have been outraged and who is now suffering from a 
violent hysteria. With eyes dilated and wild, she constantly utters 
piercing shrieks, repeating the words, 'My husband, my father, and 
my brother !' counts to twelve, and says 'Hush !' Then I am told that 
there was another patient to be attended to. This time it was a boy 
about seventeen, dying from a sword-wound at the hands of one of the 
noble brothers The boy passionately describes the shameful outrages 
to which these nobles have subjected his family and the poor. He 
spends his life-blood in telling how he tried to save his sister's soul, 
but was thus wounded in the attempt. Meanwhile the two noblemen 
look on indifferent and impatient. Finally, sister and brother die 
cursing their oppressors. The brothers gladly receive the report and 
offer me gold, but I refuse to accept it. The money is, however, left 
at my door ; but I determine to write the Minister. The unhappy wife 
of the elder Marquis St. Evremonde visits and begs me not to reveal 
the affair, and calls upon her little son Charles (Charles Darnay) to 
strengthen her plea. That night I am called out to a case, but am 
gagged and bound by surprise. I am shown the letter which I had 
sent the Minister and which my captives, the two Evremonde brothers, 
had procured. I am thrown into the Bastile, a victim of a 'lettre de 
cachet' ; here I write this in my own blood and eternally denounce the 
Evremondes and their descendants to the last of their race." When 
this document is read, the court is thrown into a revengeful passion 
and Charles Darna)' is immediately sentenced to die in twenty-four 
hours. 

Chapter XI — Dusk : Lucy and the Doctor bid farewell to Charles. 
Now they realize what a hard struggle the Doctor had had to permit 
Charles to marry Lucy. Onlv Sydney Carton bears an expression of 
pride and a flush of power. He encourages the Doctor and Mr. Lorry, 
although he adds, "He will perish ; there is no real hope." 

Chapter XII — Darkness : Sydney strolls to the Defarge's wine- 
shop, where his resemblance to Darnay is quickly noticed. Madam 
Defarge plans to exterminate the Doctor, Lucy and her child. She 
tells how she is the sister of that outraged girl and that mortally 
wounded boy, and that it rests upon her to revenge their deaths. At 
Mr. Lorry's the Doctor suddenly rushes in and begs, implores for 
his bench and shoes. He is lost, sinks into a chair and sheds tears. 
Carton quickly gives Mr. Lorry documents permitting the Doctor, 
Lucy and the child to pass out of the city. He also gives Lorry his 
own (Carton's) to keep until to-morrow. Mr. Lorry promises to have 
his horses ready at two in the afternoon to take Carton into the car- 
riage in whatever condition he might be, and to impress Lucy and the 
Doctor of their imminent danger and the dire necessity of leaving 
France at once. 



103 



Chapter XIII — Fifty-two : Charles Darnay resigns himself to his 
fate. He writes a letter of consolation and encouragement to Lucy 
and her father. He never thought of Carton. He reviews his short life 
and cannot sleep. At one o'clock the next day, Sydney suddenly makes 
his appearance in Darnay's cell, peremptorily orders Charles to change 
clothes with him, and as he writes to Carton's dictation, falls uncon- 
scious under the latter's drugged handkerchief. The guards outside 
come in, and carry Darnay out believing him to be the afflicted Car- 
ton. Soon Sydney is led out, bound and prepared for the Guillotine. 
A little seamstress also on her way to death, recognizes Sydney and 
exclaims, "Are you dying for him?" Sydney answers, "And his wife 
and child." He comforts the poor little girl. Meanwhile, with Charles 
still unconscious, Mr. Lorry, the Doctor, Lucy and her child make 
their fearful escape across the Barrier. They are under the impression 
that it is Sydney lying in a swoon beside them. 

Chapter XIV — The Knitting Done : Bent upon exterminating 
the Doctor, Lucy and her child, Madam Defarge, with dagger and 
pistol, makes her way to Lucy's home, fearful that her enemies might 
think of escape. Events have so turned Jerry Cruncher's mind that he 
now has changed his opinion respecting "flopping," and even expresses 
his desire that his wife would flop always. He goes out to hire a cab, 
while Miss Pross is left alone to receive Madam Defarge. Miss Pross 
soon understands Madam Defarge's purposes, and the proud but des- 
perate Briton proves a good match for the "wife of Lucifer." She out- 
wits Madam Defarge who is accidently self-shot and killed in her 
struggle to get away from the strong Miss Pross. The latter becomes 
deaf as a result of the flash and crash of the pistol-shot. She meets 
Jerry and they make their escape to England. 

Chapter XV — The Footsteps Die Out Forever : In the tumbrils, 
the prisoners are sadly rumbled through the streets to the Guillotine. 
People shout blasphemies and "Down Evremonde !" as the bound vic- 
tims pass through the crowd. The "Vengeance" misses her indispens- 
able Madam Defarge and the knitting women, always in their places 
around the "National Razor," take up the cry for Theresa Defarge. 
Sydney Carton does not leave the side of the poor little seamstress, 
hears her hopeful prayer for her living sister, encourages her, and 
finally kisses her as she precedes him to the Guillotine. As he follows, 
he mutters, "I am the Resurrection and the Life — " and the knitting 
women soon count "twenty-three." If Carton's thoughts had been 
written down as he stood at the Guillotine, we would have read, "It is 
a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done ; it is a far, far 
better rest that I go to than I have every known." 

Characterizations : 

Sydney Carton : Reckless in demeanor, disreputable look, big hearted, 
sincere, morose, a man of good abilities and good emotions, in- 
capable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and 
his own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning 
himself "to eat him away." 

Mr. Lorry : Orderly, methodical, a man of business, friendly, sym- 
pathetic, faithful, conservative. 

Monsieur Defarge : Good-humored looking, but implacable-looking 



103 



too ; strong resolution, set purpose, a leader, desperate. 

Madam Defarge : Watchful eye, steady face, strong features, great 
composure of manner, tigerish, stealthy, fearless, shrewd sense of 
readiness, of great determination, a face of firmness and animos- 
ity, with a brooding sense of wrong, absolutely without pity, 
unwomanly, cold. 

Stryver : Glib, pushing, unscrupulous, ready, bold. 

Miss Pross : A wild, red woman, strong of hand, big of heart, faithful, 
outspoken, unselfish. 

Jerry Cruncher : Domineering at home, a faithful but loquacious mes- 
senger, irreligious, humorous, an "honest" tradesman, bold, oblig- 
ing. 



BENJAMIN FRANKLINS AUTOBIOGRAPHY (1771, 1783, 1788) 

The Author: 

Born in Boston, Mass., Jan. 17, 1706; died in Philadelphia, 
Pa., April 17, 1790. Famous abroad and venerated at home; the 
only man who signed the Declaration of Independence, the Treaty 
of Alliance with France, the Treaty of Peace with England, and 
the Constitution under which. we live. Clerk in the Pennsylvania 
Assembly, 1736 ; postmaster at Philadelphia, 1736 ; delegate to 
Albany Convention, 1754; first political mission to London, 1757: 
to London, 1764; examination before the House of Commons, 
1766 ; in Congress, 1776 ; member of Peace Commission, 1781 ; dele- 
gate to the Constitutional Convention, 1787. 

Works : V 

Poor Richard's Almanac, 1732; Proposals (to found the Uni-. 
versity of Pennsylvania), 1749 ; Plan of Union, 1754; Father Abra- 
ham's Speech, 1758; Scientific Works (in London), 1769. Drafts 
Declaration of Independence, 1776. 

Style: 

Clearness and naturalness ; informal manner ; no attempt at 
literary embellishment ; simple, colloquial words, apt turns of 
phrase, raciness and charm ; direct, naive utterances ; pithiness : 
lively and playful ; compact ; humorous ; modelled after Addison 
and Steele's "Spectator." 
Character: 

Practical shrewdness and ingenuity ; industrious, ingenious, 
economical, sensible ; sound common sense, a safe and effective 
teacher ; wise ; unselfish and patriotic ; popular, curious, thorough : 
lacked spirituality and faith in the ideal, frugal, ready, willing, 
and able, generous, loyal ; excellent conversationalist. 
Biographies : 

J. B. McMaster's "Benjamin Franklin." J. T. Morse's "Ben- 
jamin' Franklin." P. L. Ford's "The Many-Sided Franklin'." 



104 



S. G. Fisher's ''The True Benjamin Franklin." 
The Autobiography: 

Addressed to his son, William Franklin, for the pleasure and 
information of his family. "I shall a good deal gratify my own 
vanity." 

I. Parentage and Boyhood: 

Ancestors lived in Ecton, Northamptonshire, England, for three 
hundred years ; family of smiths ; grandfather, Thomas, had four sons, 
Josiah being the youngest; Protestant in faith. Josiah came to New 
England, 1682, a dissenter; had seven children by first wife, and'ten 
by the second, Benjamin Franklin being the fifteenth and youngest 
child ; to school at eight ; taken home to assist father as a tallow- 
chandler ; my inclination for the sea ; leader among boys ; father was 
a strong, ingenious, and prudent man, skilled in drawing, music, me- 
chanics, and arbitration; mother a healthy, industrious woman, who 
brought up children with perfect inattention. 

II. Youth: 

I was fond of reading "Pilgrim's Progress," Burton's "His- 
torical Collection," Plutarch's "Lives," De Foe's "Essay on Projects," 
Dr. Mather's "Essays to do Good"; this inclination led me to the 
printer's profession ; to my brother, James, at Boston, and sign in- 
dentures to serve as his apprentice in his printing-shop, till age of 
twenty-one ; wrote occasional poems and ballads ; went out to sell this 
"rotten stuff " ; met the bookish lad, John Collins ; carried on disputes 
with Collins through correspondence on debatable subjects ; came 
across the "Spectator," and imitated and emulated its style ; became 
a vegetarian, and by temperance in eating, was able to buy books and 
study : read Cocker's "Arithmetic," books on Navigation, Locke's "Es- 
say on Human Understanding," du Port Royal's "Art of Thinking." 
Greenwood's "English Grammar," and Xenophon's "Memorable 
Things of Socrates :" learned the Socratic method, became a doubter, 
and an excellent dialectician ; the chief ends of conversation are to 
inform, or to be informed, to please or to persuade ; my brother prints 
the second paper ever published in America, "The New England 
Current," the first being, the "Boston News-Letter I carry the papers 
through the streets ; my little anonymous papers are well received ; 
my passionate brother frequently beat me; his imprisonment on ac- 
count of offense given to the Assembly ; the paper now under the name 
of Benjamin Franklin ; a fresh difference forces me to leave my broth- 
er; I leave for New York, at seventeen; on my trip to Philadelphia, 
I rescue a drunken Dutchman from drowning ; the stormy trip ; my 
sick condition -at the end of the trip ; I meet Dr. Brown, an itinerant 
Doctor ; my arrival in Philadelphia, dirty and overladen ; I pass Miss 
Read, my future wife, with rolls under each arm; I fall asleep at a 
Quaker meeting ; I meet Keimer, the Hebrew printer, who later sends 
for me to print off an "Elegy on Aquila Rose ;" I spend my evenings at 
the Read home, reading and writing; Gov. Keith calls on me and 
promises to set me up in business ; I return to Boston and am wel- 
comed by all except my jealous brother; my father finally gives his 
consent to my setting up at Philadelphia ; his advice against lampoon- 
ing and libelling; my friend Collins accompanies me back; meeting 

105 



a couple of strumpets in the coach; my interview with Gov. Burnet 
of New York ; my altercation with Collins on the Delaware, my throw- 
ing him into the water for his refusal to row, and my rescuing him; 
Collins leaves me for the West Indies, forever; the liberal offers of 
Keith; I eat cod fish on my voyage from Boston; I better Keimer in 
argument ; Keimer's orthodoxy ; his gluttony ; my courtship with Miss 
Read, at eighteen; my friends Osborne, Watson, and Ralph; our lit- 
erary meetings for mutual criticism ; Ralph's poetic tendencies ; Keith's 
delaying and feigning ; I leave for London, England, to order printing- 
machinery, with the supposed letters of recommendation from Keith ; 
bad weather. 

III. Manhood : 

The false letter from Keith; arrive Dec. 24, 1724; I rely 
on my friend, Denham, to whom I confide everything; Ralph, 
who accompanied me and deserted his family, determines to remain in 
England, where he fails to get employment; I am employed as printer 
at Palmer's ; I write "A Dissertation on Liberty and Necessity, Pleas- 
ure and Pain," and please Mr. Palmer therewith ; I sell my asbestos 
purse to Sloane, the scientist; Ralph's relationship with the milliner: 
my quarrel with Ralph and our separation; lose money he borrowed 
from me; I finally am forced to drink beer with the rest of the men 
at Palmer's; my lodging at the Duke-street house, the widow-lady, 
and her interesting, Roman Catholic lady-boarder; I change my em- 
ploy for Watt's printing-house ; my intention of opening a swimming- 
school ; Denham's plans of opening a store in Philadelphia, with me 
as his clerk; we leave England, July 23, 1726; in Philadelphia on 
October 11th ; Keith's shame ; Keimer's progress ; Denham dies and 
leaves me a small legacy ; my love for him : I go back to Kiemer and 
build up his business ; Keimer seeks an opportunity of sending me off 
after I had done all he expected from, me ; I leave him and am ac- 
quainted with the plans of Meredith, a fellow-printer, whom I had 
instructed ; our plan to set up our own shop ; my good reputation 
among the Assemblymen; my religious doubtings at this time; my 
principles of truth, sincerity, and integrity; Meredith and I open our 
printing-shop ; we start well ; the JUNTO, a club with the purpose of 
sincerely inquiring after TRUTH ; the members ; our industriousness 
as printers and the public's consideration for our careful labor ; Keimer 
hears of our plan to publish a newspaper, and anticipates it with one 
by himself ; we criticise him in "The Busy Bodv" and cause his paper 
to be little sought for; our own paper is welcomed by many sub- 
scribers ; its elegance and correctness ; I pay Mr. Vernon the debt due 
him mainlv through the extravagance of Collins ; Meredith's father 
fails to pay off the debt due on the machinery, proposes that I pay 
the debt and keep the plant myself, and thus make me sole owner : T 
accept the financial assistance of William Coleman and Robert Grace, 
and begin business for myself. 

IV. Deeds and Thoughts: 

I write an anonymous pamphlet on "The Nature and Neces- 
sity of a Paper Currency," and later receive the assignment 
to print the bills ; I opened a stationer's shop : was industrious 
frugal, and plain ; Bradford's larger business ; Miss Read's un- 

106 



fortunate situation and our mutual affection moved me to take her 
to wife, 1730.; my project of a subscription library; fifty subscribers; 
reading became fashionable; later incorporated by the State; studied 
two hours a day; the fruits of industry; my wife was a valuable help- 
mate; I believed in God and in Goodness of Heart as my religion; 
seldom attended church; my VIRTUES were: Temperance, Silence, 
Order, Resolution, Frugality, Industry, Sincerity, Justice, Modera- 
tion, Cleanliness, Tranquillity, Chastity, and Humility ; practiced them 
one at a time ; my little book of Virtues ; mottos and prayers ; the 
difficulty of doing justice to the virtue of Order; I gained long-con- 
tinued health, fortune, evenness of temper, and cheerfulness ; the value 
of Probity and Integrity; in speech, I forbear direct contradictions 
and all positive assertions; the passion of pride must be subdued; the 
dangers of parties; a United Party for Virtue is the best; my project 
for a Society of the Free and the Easy; free from vice and debt, I 
publish "Richard Saunders or Poor Richard's Almanac" in 1732 ; its 
great success; proverbs; the influence pf Father Abraham's Speech; 
the Almanac was a paper for reading and instruction; no libelling; I 
recommend that the female sex receive commercial education for their 
economic independence; I support the preaching of Hemphill, an 
Irish Presbyterian preacher ; I mastered the French, Italian, and Span- 
ish languages ; modern language study should precede the classics ; 
I visit Boston and am welcomed by my formerly unfriendly brother; 
I help his son in business ; the success of the Junto and the organiza- 
tion of separate "Juntos" by the members ; chosen clerk of the General 
Assembly, 1736-7; very profitable; the prudence of removing, rather 
than continuing, inimical proceedings; I accept the position of post- 
master at Philadelphia, 1737; value of clearness and punctuality of 
accounts ; I urge the establishment of a police force, to be supported 
by proportionate taxation; I establish the Union Fire Compay, the 
first fire department known; the powerful influence of the Reverend 
Mr. Whitefield's sermons; his project to build an orphan asylum in 
Georgia; his eloquence weakens my opposition, and I empty my 
pockets at the end of his sermon; our friendship ; his marvelous «voice ; 
his writings subjected to a great deal of criticism; save your first 
hundred pounds, and the second comes more easily; I establish my 
faithful men into partnership with me in different states ; my proposal 
for establishing an Academy, fails at first; the Philosophical Society 
succeeded ; my pamphlet "Plain Truth" leads the way to organizing 
forces for State military defence; I determine never to ask, never 
refuse, nor never resign an office ; the Quakers' opposition to military 
service; the majority of Quakers favor defense; the embarrassments 
of the Quakers in making appropriations in equivocal terms; the 
Quakers desert political fields of endeavor ; my newly-invented stove 
is accepted ; I refuse a patent ; I am instrumental in establishing what 
was later called the University of Pennsylvania; I take Mr. David 
Hall, an honest man, as my partner in business, and am thus enabled 
to devote myself more freely to public service ; I am chosen a member 
of the Assembly, my son becoming clerk ; the commission to draw up 
a treaty with the Carlisle Indians ; the Indians' celebration over rum ; 
I am called upon to use my influence in establishing a hospital in 
Philadelphia; its success; the matters of street-paving and lighting 



107 



now receive my fervent attention and endorsement ; I invent a smoke- 
less lamp; the subject of street cleaning now possessed my mind, and 
I carry the project through to a successful end; I am honored with 
the degree of Master of Arts by the University of Cambridge (New 
England) and Yale, for my discoveries in the electrical field; I draw 
up a plan of government for all the colonies as a unit, but this "Albany 
Plan" fails in both the assemblies and in England ; I become a close 
friend to Gov. Morris of New York, a lover of disputation; my adver- 
tisement materially aids General Braddock in mobilizing wagons and 
horses; my financial assistance; my advice to the general on the best 
modes of fighting the Indians ; the over-confident refusal of Braddock ; 
the annihilation of the expedition ; the wagon-owners sue me for their 
material; I am relieved of this embarrassment by General Shirley; I 
receive a commission as General to build fortifications against the 
marauding Indians; I raise an army and march to Gnadenhut; build- 
ing palisades and putting up our single swivel gun; we scour the 
neighboring hills for Indians ; their cunning contrivances for fire-build- 
ing ; I return to the Assembly, 'Colonel Clapham taking the command ; 
I interest myself in the practices of the Moravians; their churches, 
prayers, marriages; at Philadelphia. I am chosen colonel and lead 
a well-organized unit of 1,200 militiamen; I receive "a royal escort'' 
on my departure to Virginia, to my displeasure; the governor's jeal- 
ousy; my electrical experiments; my essays on electricity are printed 
in England and translated in France; the Abbe Nollet's antagonism; 
the Royal Society of London takes notice of my inventions and experi- 
ments; the experiment of procuring lightning from the clouds by a 
pointed rod ; am accepted a member of the Royal Society and am pre- 
sented with the Copley medal; the new Governor Denny solicits my 
friendship; I espouse the cause of the Assembly in disputes with the 
Governor; my friend, Ralph, I hear, made a success of his literary 
undertakings; disputes with Gov. Denny; his indecision; he demands 
that we supply our own defense, leaving the king's troops alone; he 
delays the departure of the paquet ships; General Loudoun's ineffi- 
ciency; his unscrupulousness ; my journey to England; the ship's 
speed ; methods to improve the speed of ships ; our escape from ship- 
wreck ; in London, July 27, 1757 ; I meet Lord Grenville, and we dis- 
agree on the subject of the king's legal prerogatives over the colonies; 
I meet the proprietories and state the position of the Assembly of 
Pennsylvania ; I refuse to deal with their solicitor, Paris, a proud, angry 
man ; the proprietories then address the Assembly directly, and report 
my "rudeness"; this was due to my want of formality; Gov. Denny 
finally agrees to tax the estate of the proprietaries in common with the 
estates of the people; this is finally approved of by the order of the 
king's Council; I am thanked by the Assembly for my pains. 



WALDEN (1854) 

Author : 

HENRY DAVID THOREAU— "The Hermit-Philosopher." 

Born at Concord, Mass., July 12, 1817. Died at Concord, 

108 



May 6, 1862. Graduated from Harvard ; under influence of Emer- 
son's theory of self-reliance; made up his mind to live his own 
life; refused to pay church-tax; chose freedom of the "Jack-of- 
all-trades lived as cheaply as possible ; was a teacher, surveyor, 
carpenter, gardener, and pencil-maker ; later a lecturer-author ; 
never married; a consumptive; he lived alone, never voted, ate 
no flesh, drank no wine, used no tobacco, and though a natural- 
ist, used neither trap nor gun; anti-slavist, natural historian, 
poet; an extreme individualist; a Greek scholar; independent, 
erratic, and a destructive reformer; believed in Rousseau's prin- 
ciple of "return to nature." 
Criticism : 

Greek clearness, conciseness and felicity of phrase; his sen- 
tences have the freshness, the sharpness, and the truth of the 
Greeks; not afraid of exaggeration and paradox; aphoristic; sur- 
prising; an artist in words, a master-phrase-maker; sincere and 
true to himself; delivers messages as a moralist and a prophet; 
sledge-hammer emphasis; spicy, epigrammatic, full of novel wit- 
ticisms. 
Works : 

"A Week on the Concord and the Merrimac Rivers," "Excur- 
sions," "The Maine Woods," "Cape Cod," "A Yankee in 
Canada," "Summer," "Winter," "Autumn," "Letters." 
Purpose : 

"To make an independent search for the true way of living." 
Introduction : 

On a piece of land belonging to Emerson, a bit of woodland on 
the margin of Walden Pond, Thoreau built a shanty in 1845. In this 
hut, a mile from any neighbor and about two miles from the village 
of Concord, he dwelt for two years and two months. He did this to 
"transact some private business" which proved to be his "Week on 
the Concord and Merrimac Rivers." 

Economy. Earned my living by the labor of my hands only. It 
is a misfortune to inherit farms, houses, barns, cattle and tools, for 
they are more easily acquired than got rid of. We live mean and 
sneaking lives. We make ourselves sick that we may lay up some- 
thing against a sick day. I have lived some thirty years on this 
planet, and I have yet to hear the first syllable of valuable or even 
earnest advice from my seniors. The greater part of what my neigh- 
bors call good I believe in my soul to be bad. It would be to some 
advantage to live a primitive and frontier life. The necessaries of life 
for man in this climate are Food, Shelter, Clothing, and Fuel. The 
grand necessity for our bodies is to keep warm, to keep the vital heat 
in us. Most of the luxuries, and many of the so-called comforts of 
life are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the ele- 
vation of mankind. In short, I went on for a long time faithfully 
minding my own business. My purpose in going to Walden Pond 
was not to live cheaply nor to live dearly there, but to transact some 
private business (writing "A Week on the Concord and Merrimac 
Rivers") with the fewest obstacles. The object of clothing is, first, 



109 



to retain the vital heat, and, secondly, in this state of society, to cover 
nakedness. No man ever stood lower in my estimation for having a 
patch in his clothes. People are not judged by the clothes they wear. 
If you have any enterprise before you, try it in your old clothes. If 
they are fit to worship God in, they will do. We worship not the 
Graces but Fashion. When a soldier is hit by a cannon-ball, rags are 
as becoming as purple. We know not what it means to live in the 
open air. The savage owns his shelter because it costs so little, while 
the civilized man hires his commonly because he cannot afford to own 
it. Many a man who owns a house is not the richer for it ; for, it is 
usually the case that the house has him. We are often imprisoned 
rather than housed in our dwellings. While civilization has been im- 
proving our houses, it has not equally improved the men who are to 
inhabit them. It is the luxurious and dissipated who set the fash- 
ions which the herd so diligently follow. I would rather sit on a 
pumpkin and have it all to myself than be crowded on a velvet 
cushion. I would rather ride on earth in an ox-cart, with a free circu- 
lation, than go to heaven in the fancy car of an excursion-train and 
breathe a malaria all the way. Men have become the tools of their 
tools. If men constructed their dwellings with their own hands, and 
provided food for themselves and families simply and honestly enough, 
the poetic faculty would be universally developed, as birds universally 
sing when they are so engaged. The most interesting dwellings in 
this country are the most unpretending humble log huts and cottages 
of the poor. I built myself a tight-shingled and plastered house, ten 
feet wide by fifteen long, and eight-foot posts, with a garret and a 
closet, a large window on each side, two trap-doors, one door at the 
end, and a brick fireplace opposite; it cost me twenty-eight dollars 
and twelve and one-half cents. Students should build their colleges, 
using their hands and heads. The swiftest traveler is he that goes 
afoot. Railroads are to be ridden on but usually they ride over us. 
I am wont to think that men are not so much the keepers of herds, 
as herds are the keepers of men, the former are so much the freer. 
Nations are possessed with an insane ambition to perpetuate the mem- 
ory of themselves by the amount of hammered stone they leave ; what 
if equal pains were taken to smooth and polish their manners. One 
piece of good sense would be more memorable than a monument as 
high as the moon. Most of the stone a nation hammers goes toward 
its tomb only. It builds a tomb in which the people are buried alive. 
The mainspring is vanity. By surveying, carpentry, and day-labor I 
had earned $13.34. The expense of food for eight months was $8.74 
all told. Men have come to such a pass that they frequently starve, 
not for want of necessaries, but for want of luxuries. I made my 
bread of rye and meal and used no yeast. For more than five years 
I maintained myself solely by the labor of my hands and I found thajt 
by working about six weeks a year I could meet all expenses of living. 
The whole of my winters, as well as most of my summers, I had free 
and clear for study. I have since learned that trade curses everything 
it handles. I am convinced both by faith and experience, that to 
maintain one's self on this earth is not a hardship but a pastime, if 
we will live simply and wisely. It is not necessary that a man should 
earn his living by the sweat of his brow. The man who goes alone 



110 



can start to-day ; but he who travels with another must wait till that 
other is ready, and it may be a long time before they get off. There 
is no odor so bad as that which arises from goodness tainted. The 
philanthropist too often surrounds mankind with the remembrance 
of his own cast-off griefs as an atmosphere, and calls it sympathy. I 
never knew, I never shall know, a worse man than myself. I do not 
lecture against the use of tobacco because I never chewed it. Our 
manners have been corrupted by communication with the saints ; our 
hymn-books resound with melodious cursing of God and enduring 
Him forever. 

Where I Lived, and What I Lived For. I dearly love to talk. A 
man is rich in proportion to the number of things which he can afford 
to let alone. "I am monarch of all I survey, my right there is none 
to dispute." Live free and uncommitted as long as possible. It 
makes but little difference whether you are committed to a farm or 
to the country jail. The morning wind forever blows, the poem of 
creation is uninterrupted ; but few are the ears that hear it. An abode 
without birds is like a supper without seasoning. I was seated by 
the shore of a small pond, about a mile and a half south of the vil- 
lage of Concord. It is well to have some water in your neighbor- 
hood to give buoyancy to and float the earth. My life was spent with 
equal simplicity with Nature. I got up early, bathed in the pond. To 
be awake is to be alive. I have never yet met a man who is quite 
awake; how could I have looked him in the face? Elevate your life 
by a conscious endeavor. I went to the woods because I wished to 
live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if 
I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die 
discover that I had not lived. I wanted to live deep and suck out all 
the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to 
rout all that was not life. Simplicity! Simplicity! Simplicity! I say, 
let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand. 
Keep your accounts on your thumb-nail. Instead of three meals a 
day, if it be necessary, eat but one. Instead of one hundred dishes, 
five. Men think that it is essential that the Nation have commerce, 
and export ice, and talk through a telephone, and ride thirty miles 
an hour; but if we stay at home and mind our business, who will 
want railroads? We do not ride on the railroad; it rides upon us. 
Why should we live with such hurry and waste of life? As for work, 
we haven't any of any consequence. For my part, I could easily do 
without the post-office ; the penny-post is, commonly, an institution 
through which you seriously offer a man that penny for his thoughts 
which is so often safely offered in jest. I never read any memorable 
news in a newspaper; to a philosopher all news is gossip. There is 
nothing new under the sun. Shams and delusions are esteemed for 
soundest truths, while reality is fabulous. Let us spend one. day as 
deliberately as Nature. If the engine whistles, let it whistle until it is 
hoarse for its pains. If the bell rings, why should we run? Time is 
but the stream I go a-fishing in ; I drink at it ; but while I drink I 
see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. My head is my 
hands and feet. 

Reading. My residence was more favorable, not only to thought, 
but to serious reading, than a university. The ancient classics (Latin 

w 



and Greek) are the noblest recorded thoughts of man. Books must 
be read as deliberately and reservedly as they were written. What is 
called eloquence in the forum is commonly found to be rhetoric in the 
study. The writer speaks to the intellect and heart of mankind. A 
written word is the choicest of relics. Books are the treasured wealth 
of the world and the fit inheritance of generations and nations. Learn 
to read the ancient classics in the original language. Most men have 
learned to read to serve a paltry convenience, to keep accounts, and 
not be cheated in trade. We should read the best that is in literature. 
We are under-bred and low-lived and illiterate. We are a race of tit- 
men, and soar but little higher in our intellectual flights than the 
columns of the daily paper and the pages of the trashy novels. It is 
not all books that are as dull as their readers. It is time that we had 
uncommon schools, that we did not leave off our education when we 
begin to be men and women. It is time that villages became uni- 
versities. Instead of noblemen, let us have noble villages of men. 

Solitude. I go and come with a strange liberty in Nature, a part 
of herself. Like the lake, my serenity is rippled but not ruffled. My 
nearest neighbor is a mile distant, and no house is visible from any 
place but the hill-tops within half a mile of my own. It is as solitary 
as on the prairies. I have a little world all to myself. Visitors came but 
left "the world to darkness and to me." While I enjoy the friendship 
of the seasons I trust that nothing can make my life a burden to me. 
I have never felt lonesome, or in a sense oppressed by a sense of soli- 
tude. I enjoyed the sweet and beneficent society in Nature. I never 
found a companion that was so companionable as Solitude. We are 
for the most part more lonely when we go abroad among men than 
when we stay in our chambers. Solitude is not measured by the miles 
of space that intervene between a man and his fellows. Society is 
commonly too cheap. We meet at very short intervals, not having 
had time to acquire any new value for each other. We meet at meals 
three times a day, and give each other a new taste of that old musty 
cheese that we are. We have had to agree on a certain set of rules, 
called etiquette and politeness, to make this frequent meeting toler- 
able that we need not come to open war. We live thick and are in each 
other's way, and stumble over one another, and I think that we thus 
lose respect for one another. It would be better if there were but one 
inhabitant to a square mile, as where I live. The value of a man is 
not in his skin that we should touch him. I have a great deal of com- 
pany when nobody calls. God is alone, but the devil, he is far from 
being alone. He sees a great deal of company. 

The Ponds. In warm evenings I frequently sat in the boat play- 
ing the flute. We caught pouts with a bunch of worms strung on the 
thread. I would spend the hours of midnight fishing from a boat by 
moonlight, serenaded by owls and foxes. I drifted in the gentle night 
breeze and my thoughts wandered to vast and cosmogonal themes in 
other spheres. The pond is so remarkable for its depth and purity. It 
is a clear and deep green well, half a mile long and a mile and three- 
quarters in circumference. The surrounding hills rise abruptly from 
the water to the height of forty to eighty feet in most places. Walden 
is blue at one time and green at another, even from the same point of 
view. Yet a single glass of its water held up to the light is as color- 



112 



less as an equal quantity of air. The water is so transparent that the 
bottom can easily be discerned at the depth of twenty-five or thirty 
feet. The shore is composed of a belt of smooth, rounded white stones 
like paving stones, excepting one or two sand beaches. Some think it 
is bottomless. It is nowhere muddy. Successive nations perchance have 
drunk at, admired and fathomed it, and passed away and still its 
water is green and pellucid as ever. It is the gem of the first water 
which Concord wears in her coronet. It is commonly higher in the 
winter and lower in the summer. Its shore is cleanest when the water 
is lowest. It is very certain at any rate that once there was no pond 
here. One might suppose that it was originally called Walled-in-Pond. 
For four months in the year its water is as cold as it is pure at all 
times. The pond is not very fertile in fish. The shore is irregular 
enough not to be monotonous. A lake is the landscape's most beau- 
tiful and expressive feature. It is earth's eye. It is a lake with a 
glassy surface. From a hill-top you can see a fish eating in almost 
any part. Sky water ; it needs no fence. Nations come and go without 
defiling it. It is a mirror which no stone can crack, whose quicksilver 
will never wear off, whose gilding nature continually repairs. No 
storms, no dust can dim its surface ever fresh. A field ofr water be- 
trays the spirit that is in the air. I was rich, but not in money, in 
sunny hours and summer days, and spent them lavishly. Now the 
villages are thinking to bring Walden's water to the village in a pipe, 
to wash their dishes with ! It has not acquired one permanent 
wrinkle after all its ripples. It is perennially young. Flints', or Sandy 
Pond in Lincoln, our greatest lake and inland sea, lies about a mile 
east of Walden. It is much larger, containing one hundred and 
ninety-seven acres, it is more fertile in fish, but it is comparatively 
shallow and not remarkably pure. Why name it Flints' Pond after 
some skin-flint, stupid, unclean farmer? He never bathed in it, never 
loved it, protected it, spoke a good word for it, nor thanked God that 
He had made it. Rather let it be named from the fish that swim in it. 
Farmers are respectable and interesting to me in proportion as they 
are poor — poor farmers. If the fairest features of the landscape are 
so to be named after men, let them be the noblest and worthiest men 
alone. Goose Pond, Fair Haven, and White Pond make up the Lake 
District. These with the Concord River, are my water privileges. The 
most attractive if not the most beautiful, the gem of the woods, is 
White Pond. It is a lesser twin of Walden. These are so much alike 
that you could say that they must be connected under ground. White 
Pond has rarely been proclaimed by a boat, for there is little in it to 
tempt a fisherman. White Pond and Walden are great crystals on 
the surface of the earth, Lakes of Light. How much more beautiful 
than our lives, how much more transparent than our characters are 
they! Nature has no human inhabitant who appreciates her. She 
flourishes most alone, far from the towns where they reside. Talk 
of heaven ! Ye disgrace earth. 

Higher Laws. I like sometimes to take rank hold on life and 
spend my day more as animals do. I sold my gun before I went to 
the woods. We cannot but pity the boy who has never fired a gun. 
I cannot fish without falling a little in self-respect. There is some- 
thing essentially unclean in this diet of fish and all flesh. Fish never 

113 



seemed to feed me essentially. A little bread or a few potatoes would 
have done as well, with less trouble and filth. It is not worth while 
to live by rich cookery. Is it not a reproach that man is a carniverous 
animal? Man lives by preying on other animals. If the day and night 
are such that you greet them with joy, <and life emits a fragrance like 
flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more 
immortal, — that is your success. I could sometimes eat a friendly 
rat with a good-relish, if it were necessary. I believe that water is the 
only drink for a wise man. The wonder'is how they, how you and I, 
can live this slimy, beastly life eating and drinking. Goodness is the 
only investment that never fails. We are conscious of an animal in 
us, which awakens in proportion as our higher nature slumbers. 
Chastity is the flowering of man, and what are called Genius, Hero- 
ism, Holiness and the like, are but various fruits which succeeded. 
He is blessed who is assured that the animal is dying out in him day 
by day, and the divine being established. From work and exertion 
come wisdom and purity; from sloth, ignorance and sensuality. Na- 
ture is hard to be overcome, but she must be overcome. Every man 
is the builder of a temple, called his body. We are all. sculptors and 
painters, and our material is our own flesh and blood and bones. Any 
nobleness begins at once to refine a man's features, any meanness or 
sensuality to imbrute them. 

Spring. The night is the Winter, the morning and evening are 
the Spring and Fall, and the moon is the Summer. One attraction in 
coming to the woods to live was that I should have an opportunity 
to see the Spring come in. I am alert for the first signs of Spring, to 
hear the chance note of some arriving bird. No wonder that the earth 
expressed outwardly in leaves, its soul labors with the idea inwardly. 
When the sun withdraws the sand ceases to flow. What is man but a 
mass of thawing clay? The frost comes out of the ground like a dor- 
mant quadruped from its burrow and seeks the sea with music, or 
migrates to other climes in clouds. At the approach of Spring the red- 
squirrels got under my house, two at a time, directly under my feet. 
The first sparrow of Spring ! The year beginning with younger hope 
than ever ! The brooks sing carols and glees to the Spring. The marsh- 
hawk sailing low over the meadow is already seeking the first slimy 
life that awakes. The ice dissolves apace in the ponds. Walden was 
dead and is alive again. I heard the martins twittering over my clear- 
ing. The tortoise and the frog are among the precursors and heralds of 
this season. Birds fly with song and glancing plumage, and plants 
spring and bloom, and winds blow. In a pleasant Spring morning all 
men's sins are forgiven. Such a day is a truce to vice. While such a 
sun holds out to burn, the vilest sinner may return. Through our own 
recovered innocence we discern the innocence of our neighbors. We 
can never have enough of Nature. The landscape has a brightness like 
sunshine. 

Conclusion. Be a Columbus to whole new continents and worlds 
within you, opening new channels, not of trade, but of thought. I left 
the woods for as good a reason as I went there ! I learned this, at 
least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the di- 
rections of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has 
imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours 



In proportion as he amplifies his life, the laws of the universe will 
appear less complex, and solitude will not be solitude nor poverty 
poverty, nor weakness weakness. Build your castles in the air, but put 
foundations under them. While England endeavors to cure the potato- 
rot, will not any endeavor to cure brain-rot, which prevails so much 
more widely and fatally? Let every one mind his own business, and 
endeavor to be what he was made. If a man does not keep pace with 
his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. 
No face which we can give to a matter will stead us so well at last as 
the truth ; this alone wears well. However mean your life is, meet it 
and live it. Do not shun it and call it hard names. It is not so bad as 
you are. It looks poorest when you are richest. The fault-finder will 
find faults even in Paradise. Love your life, poor as it is. You may 
perhaps have some glorious, pleasant, thrilling hours, even in a poor- 
house. The town's poor seem to me often to live the most independent 
lives of any. Do not trouble yourself much to get new things, whether 
clothes or friends ; turn the old ; return to them. Things do not change ; 
we change. Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts. Superfluous 
wealth can buy superfluities only. Money is not required to buy one 
necessity of the soul. Rather than love, than money, than fame, give 
me Truth. Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more 
day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE (1598) 

Dramatist: 

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 

(See "As You Like It" for the poet's life and period.) 

Sources : 

The Pound of Flesh Story from "Gesta Romanorum" (Latin). 
Fiorentino's ."II Pecorone" (Italian). "The Northern Lord" (a 
ballad). The Casket Story from Boccaccio's "Decameron." Mar- 
lowe's "Jew of Malta." The execution of Dr. Lopez, a Jewish 
doctor, 1594. 
Criticism : 

"The Merchant of Venice" is the most symmetrical, varied 
and virile romantic-comedy. It is bright with humor, beautiful 
with romance, rich with poetry ; but it is also deep and serious in 
its underlying conception of life. "The play is a comedy in its 
blithesome tone ; it is a tale of true lovers, three couples of them ; 
its appeal is primarily to eternal youth which loves a lover, and 
which likes a love-story that is almost a fairy-tale. The plots are 
intertwined with felicitous dexterity. The temper of the piece is 
not that of tragedy." 

The Play : Act I. 

Scene I. "Venice was gazed on with admiration by the people 

111 



of every country; her merchants were princes, her palaces were 
adorned with the works of Titian, and she was, moreover, the seat 
of all pleasant delights — the pleasure-place of all festivity, the revel of 
all the world, the masque of Italy." — Hunter. Salanio, Salarino and 
Gratiano attempt to explain Antonio's sadness. The merchant seems 
possessed by a presentiment of impending calamity. Gratiano philoso- 
phizes, Jaques-like, on the wisdom of being a fool. Bassanio makes it 
clear to Antonio, his bosom friend, that he does not complain of his 
financial embarrassment, but that he is anxious to rid himself of his 
burdens of debt heaped up by his youthful extravagances. He owes 
most to Antonio, and has the grace to hesitate a little in proposing 
that Antonio lend him another large sum with which he may equip 
himself handsomely and go heiress-hunting so as to "get clear of all 
the debts" he owes. It is an ignoble petition most charmingly put, 
winding about Antonio's love "with circumstance." 

Scene II. "Belmont is a fairy-land; everything there is young, 
beautiful, radiant, and charming; from there come only happiness, joy, 
and marriage." — Jusserand. Portia and Nerissa playfully review the 
former's suitors. Bassanio's name is welcomely received. We get a 
glimpse of Portia in dishabille, so to speak, chatting in girlish freedom 
with her companion-maid, and nowhere more bewitching than here. 
There is a continuous ripple of clearest, crispest fun. 

Scene III. Venice. Bassanio requests of Shylock a loan of three 
thousand ducats (a ducat was valued at something over a dollar). The 
money-lender hesitates. He repeats the terms of the loan, weighs the 
risks accompanying it, and, concealing his own malignant purpose, 
finally proposes his "merry bond" with its fatal forfeit. Revenge 
through subtlety and cunning is Shylock's ulterior motive. His keen 
glance catches Antonio's complaisant attitude which has taken the 
place of the latter's habitual open scorn. Being an accomplished hypo- 
crite himself, Shylock sneers in bitter scorn -and hatred at the poor 
merchant's awkward attempt of fawning. The two Christians are 
proud, contemptuous, arrogant and cruel in their racial superiority. 

Act II. 

Scene I. Belmont. The Prince of Morocco arrives to make his 
choice of the caskets. Portia explains the conditions accompanying 
the choice, and assures Morocco that his complexion does not in any 
way hamper his chances of winning her. 

Scene II. Venice. Rather than follow the promptings of his 
conscience and remain in Shylock's service, Launcelot Gobbo, clown 
and servant to the Jew, determines to accept the friendly counsel of 
the fiend who advises him to "pack." Launcelot humors his blind 
father, Old Gobbo, and presents him to his new master, Bassanio. 
He revels in his good fortune. Bassanio grants Gratiano permission 
to accompany him to Belmont, on condition that the latter allays his 
skipping spirit. 

Scene III. Shylock's House. Jessica regrets the leaving of 
Launcelot, and expresses her own discomfort and plans to escape. 

Scene IV. Launcelot delivers Jessica's letter to Lorenzo who 
completes his preparations for their elopement. 

Scene V. Home of Shylock. Shylock expresses his anxiety about 



116 



going to Antonio's dinner. He warns Jessica to keep indoors and care 
for the house. Shylock goes to help to waste the borrowed money — 
to aid the profligacy of the prodigal that he may thereby be less able 
to furnish at maturity the three thousand ducats for which Antonio is 
bound. 

Scene VI. Dressed in boy's clothes, Jessica elopes with Lorenzo. 
Before going she passes to her Christian friends her father's money- 
bags. 

Scene VII. Belmont. Morocco brushes aside the silver and the 
lead caskets, and chooses the gold one bearing the inscription, "Who 
chooses me shall gain what many men desire." Morocco fails through 
rash ambition and undue faith in appearances. He takes his defeat 
very sorely. 

Scene VIII. Venice. Salanio describes Shylock's fury when 
the latter discovered the loss of his daughter and his gold. A rumor 
of shipwreck intensifies Antonio's responsibility and danger. 

Scene IX. Belmont. The Prince of Arragon, refusing to choose 
"What many men desire," picks the silver casket bearing the inscrip- 
tion, "Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves." His pride 
causes his fall. Portia feels happy over her success so far. 

Act III. 

Scene I. The news that Antonio has lost his ships sharpens Shy- 
lock's desire for revenge. Tubal, a fellow Jew, alternately throws 
Shylock into fits of anger and paroxysms of joy when he reminds 
Shylock now of Jessica's costly elopement, and now of Antonio's com- 
plete undoing. 

Scene II. Belmont. Bassanio arrives and prepares to make his 
choice of the caskets. Portia reveals her love for Bassanio and ex- 
presses her anxiety. Bassanio finally chooses the lead casket, bearing 
the inscription, "Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath." 
He puts aside the gold casket because "the world is still deceived with 
ornament" ; likewise the silver, because it is "the common drudge" 
between man and man. He chooses the lead casket because its "pale- 
ness moves me more than eloquence." Bassanio's courage and devo- 
tion are thus proven by his readiness to give and hazard all he had. 
The gold and silver caskets promised their choosers attractive gain 
and profit; whereas the lead casket called upon its chooser to give 
and dare rather than to receive and gain. The characters of the 
suitors are reflected by their respective soliloquies and decisions. 
Portia modestly surrenders herself and all her possessions to Bas- 
sanio in a speech of noble tenderness, heartfelt, and feminine. Grat- 
iano meanwhile wins the hand of Nerissa. A messenger brings Bas- 
sanio news of Antonio's bad luck and imminent danger. Bassanio ex- 
plains the entire situation to Portia, and departs for Venice. 

Scene III. Venice. Shylock refuses Antonio, now in the hands 
and custody of a gaoler, any mercy. Nothing but his bond will satisfy 
him. 

Scene IV. Belmont. Portia's cousin, Dr. Bellario, is assigned 
as judge for the case of Shylock vs. Antonio. Portia sends her servant 
to Dr. Bellario, with the request that Portia take her cousin's place 



117 



on the bench for this particular case. Nerissa disguises herself as 
a law-clerk. 

Scene V. Belmont. Lorenzo and Jessica are left behind at Bel- 
mont. Jessica trifles with Launcelot about her conversion from the 
faith of her fathers. 

Act IV. 

Scene I. Court of Justice in Venice. The Duke calls upon 
Shylock to display his real manhood and mercy, to accept the princi- 
pal of the bond and thus relieve Antonio. Shylock's "lodged hate and 
a certain loathing" based upon no definite reason, urge him to refuse 
the request of the Duke. Portia arrives disguised as a learned judge 
and takes Bellario's place; Nerissa likewise disguised, assists her. 
This entire scene is full of snappy repartee between Antonio's friends 
and the inexorable Jew. Portia begs Shylock that he allow mercy 
to season the justice of his demands. Shylock stands upon the strict 
execution of the law and refuses to budge from his obstinate decision. 
Portia throws Shylock into raptures of joy by her clear exposition of 
the bond. Shylock prepares his knife and scales and denies Antonio 
the presence of a physician. The poor merchant bids Bassanio fare- 
well. Bassanio and Gratiano both offer the sacrifice of their respective 
wives for the life of Antonio. Portia denies Shylock's right to a "jot 
of blood/' and the poor Jew is thus defeated in his bloody intent. 
Shylock is not only denied the principal, but is forced to confiscate his 
entire possessions to the State and to Antonio, to crave the Duke's 
pardon, and to become a Christian. 

Scene II. Bassanio and Gratiano part with the rings of the wives 
and reluctantly present them as tokens of appreciation to the judge 
and his clerk. "We cannot help feeling that scant justice has been 
measured out to Shylock. Antonio has treated him shamefully. 
Shakespeare is fair enough at times in making us see the Jew's griev- 
ances and provocations. To the men of the sixteenth century, Shylock 
may have been a comic villain; to us in the twentieth century, he is a 
supremely pathetic figure with whom we have even a certain sym- 
pathy." — Matthews. "At last when disappointed of the sanguinary 
revenge with which he had glutted his hopes, and exposed to beggary 
and contempt by the letter of the law on which he had insisted with 
so little remorse, we pity him, and think him hardly dealt with by 
his judges." — Hazlitt. "As regards the shedding of no blood and 
the taking no more nor less than an exact pound, Portia, lawyer-like, 
is trying to get her client off by unfair legal quibbles. She has, how- 
ever, a clear case against Shylock in his having sought Antonio's life. 
The Jew is still entitled, nevertheless, to his principal." — Furness. 
"The Trial Scene, with its tugging vicissitudes of passion, and its hush 
of terrible expectation — now ringing with the Jew's sharp spiteful 
snaps of malice, now made musical with Portia's strains of eloquence, 
now holy with Antonio's tender breathing of friendship, and dashed, 
from time to time, with Gratiano's fierce jets of wrath and fiercer jets 
of mirth — is harly surpassed in tragic power anywhere ; and as it 
forms the catastrophe proper, so it concentrates the interests of the 
whole play." — Hudson. "The Trial Scene, with its concentrated 
energy of passion and terrible irony of justice, mounts to its climax 



118 



in the overcoming of evil by good. Our hearts ache for the desolate 
Jew, while we must rejoice in Antonio's deliverance. We have suf- 
fered enough of pity and of terror for tragic purification and now the 
poet proceeds to heal and comfort and delight." 

Act V. 

Scene I. Belmont. Portia's House. After the fierce agonies of 
the court room, Shakespeare refreshes us with a love-scene bathed 
in moonlight. Lorenzo and Jessica, the runaway lovers, are in such 
a lyrical state of mind that both are indeed overflowing with sweetness 
and beauty in the course of their graceful love-making. Portia and 
Nerissa, supposed to have sojourned in a nearby monastery, arrive 
in their wonted habits. Bassanio and Antonio and party arrive. A 
quarrel soon arises between Nerissa and Gratiano over the disappear- 
ance of the former's ring from the hand of her lover. Bassanio like- 
wise confesses his guilt for the same cause. The two lovers become 
the targets of their ladies' verbal attacks, and are made to feel miser- 
able. Portia and Nerissa return the rings to their amazed husbands, 
and the entire situation is merrily explained. Antonio is informed of 
the safe return of his three ships. "We now follow the gay proces- 
sion from the lovely moonlit gardens to marble halls and princely 
revels, to splendor and festive mirth, to love and happiness." — Mrs. 
Jameson. 

Characterization : 

Antonio : Serious, large-minded, faithful, brave, sacrificing, friendly, 
retiring, disenchanted, high integrity, disinterested liberality, im- 
prudent, devoted. 

Bassanio : Gallant, ardent, fortune-hunter, affectionate friend, happy, 
faithful, philosophic and ingenious in the choice of the casket. 

Gratiano : Outspoken, optimistic, talkative, a "cousin" to Jaques in 
"As You Like It,." witty, sarcastic, derisive. 

Lorenzo : A scholar, poet, artist, impulsive, romantic, amorous. 

Launcelot : "A merry devil," witty, silly, , conceited. 

Shylock : Sinster, passionate, dignified, pitiful, learned, usurious, sor- 
did, scheming, crafty, proud of his race, malevolent, shrewd. "He 
is an ill-used man and the champion of an oppressed race." "Shy- 
lock is a good hater, a man no less sinned against than sinning. 
There is a strong, deep, and quick sense of justice mixed up with 
the gall and bitterness of his resentment." — Hazlitt. 

Portia : She is full of penetrative wisdom, genuine tenderness, and 
lively wit. She possesses a confiding, buoyant spirit which min- 
gles with all her thoughts and affections. Commanding, grave, a 
highbred airy elegance, a spirit of magnificence, in all that she 
does and says. "Warm-hearted, quick-witted, a creature of joy, 
radiant and wholesome, born to be happy ; frolic-loving, yet lofty 
of soul ; mischievous yet dignified ; a true woman, with abundant 
fervor and with no lack of humor." — Matthews. 

Prince of Morocco: Frank, warm-hearted, luxuriant pf fancy, un^ 
disguised solicitude, boastful, showy, superficial,. 



11? 



Prince of Arragon : Proud, haughty, conceited. 

Jessica: Unfaithful, treacherous, flimsy, thoughtless, unstable, flip- 
pant, insipid, unnatural, gay. 

Tubal: Spiteful and teasing. 

Nerissa: Pleasant, faithful, witty, cunning. 

Plots: 

I. Casket or Love Plot — runs throughout the play and consti- 
tutes the main action, thus making the drama a romantic-comedy. 

II. Bond Plot — is substantially concluded in the fourth act. It 
is subordinate to the action of the Love Plot. 

III. Ring Episode — is introduced toward the close of the fourth 
act and provides material for the fifth, a comic complication being 
necessary to carry on the comedy a little longer. 

IV. Jessica-Lorenzo Story — runs through the last four acts. 

V. Launcelot Episode — is a subordinate element. 



BROWNING'S SHORTER POEMS. 

Poet: 

ROBERT BROWNIN'G—"The Poet of the Soul." 

Born in Gamberwell, a London suburb, in May, 1812 ; father, 
a highly cultivated man ; mother, a sensitive, musical woman ; 
schooling, short and desultory ; left to follow his own inclinations ; 
fond of music; wrote poetry at six years of age; under influence 
of Shelley; to University College, London, for a few courses; to 
St. Petersburg in 1833 ; secretly marries the best known literary 
woman in England, Elizabeth Barret, September, 1846 ; to Italy, 
1846 ; lived an exquisitely romantic life in Pisa and in Florence ; 
Mrs. Browning dies in 1861, the end of the richest period in 
Browning's life; returns to London and supervises the education 
of his son ; became a "literary lion" in society ; frequently visited 
France; to Venice and Asolo; possessed intellectual energy; in- 
terested in politics; interested in animals and flowers; died in 
Venice, December 12, 1889 ; buried in Westminister Abbey. 
Works: 

Early Lyrics : Songs from Pippa Passes. Cavalier Tunes. Home 

Thought from Sea. 
Romance : The Pied Piper of Hamelin. Count Gismond ; Herve 

Riel; the Patriot. 
Of Italy : My last Duchess. Toccata of Galuppi's. "De Gustibus." 
Love Poems : Love Among the Ruins. A Pretty Woman. One 

Word More. Youth and Art. 
On Art: The Guardian Angel. Andrea del Sarto. The Two 

Poets of Croisic. 
Liberalism : The Lost Leader. Instans Tyrannus. Why I Am 



120 



a Liberal. 

Religion: The Boy and the Angel. Saul. A Grammarian's 

Funeral. Rabbi ben Ezra. 
Greek : Pheidippides. Echetlos. 

Drama : Strafford. A Blot in the 'Scutcheon. Colombe's Birth- 
day. 

Soul Studies : Pauline. Sordello. Andrea del Sarto. An Epistle. 
Muleykeh. 

Series : Bells and Pomegranates. The Ring and the Book. 
Style and Criticism: 

Swinburne : Decisive and incisive faculty of thought ; his 
sureness and intensity of perception; his rapid and trenchant 
resolution of aim; spider-like swiftness and sagacity; his build- 
ing spirit leaps and lightens to and fro and backward and forward ; 
inexhaustible fire of his imagination ; puts the infinite within the 
finite; compression. 

Walter Pater: The world and all its action, as a show of 
thought, that is the scope of his work. 

Cunliff e : His people are inordinately given' to self-analysis; 
not what they do, but what they think, interested Browning. 

Long : The important thing is the message, — not the form ; 
aims to show that truth lies hidden in both the evil and the good ; 
an essentially scientific attitude; his message is the triumph of 
the individual's will over all obstacles ; the self is not subordinate 
but supreme ; invincible will and optimism ; faith in life and cheer- 
fulness of courage ; his dramatic power lies in depicting what he 
himself calls the history of a soul; therefore the criticism of ob- 
scurity. 

Mrs. Orr: It is the idea, and of it. It is the brain picture 
beating itself into words. 

Brooke : Creative and therefore joyful, receptive and there- 
fore thoughtful, at one with humanity and therefore loving. 

The Poems: 

1. Songs from "Pippa Passes." 

Felippa, or Pippa, the little silk-winder of Asolo, a hill town in 
North Italy, is introduced in her humble room springing out of bed 
on her one holiday — New Year's Day, singing the first of her songs. 
She remembers four representative types — the wealthy Ottima, the 
young bride Phene, the young patriot Luigi, and the Bishop. She 
sings the "Song of Service" as she takes the street, fancy free. She 
ascends the hill where Ottima sits with her paramour Sebald. Ottima, 
after having killed her husband Luca, is about to be crowned by Sebald. 
As they hear Pippa's song, they are arrested in the vicious lives and 
change their manners. . . Some art students, learning that one of their 
number is in love with a young Greek girl, who is an artist's model, play 
a trick on him by sending to him letters as from her, which lead him 
to believe she is a woman of birth and culture. When they are mar- 
ried he learns that she is only an ignorant peasant girl, and is about 
to discard her with a sum of money, but hears Pippa singing "Give 
but a least excuse," etc., as she passes. His manhood is awakened and 



121 



he repents. . . Luigi is a young patriot who thinks all kings are tyrants, 
is believed to have joined the secret society of the Carbonari, and is 
under suspicion by the authorities. He is visiting his mother, and is 
urged by her not to think so rashly of the Emperor, when he hears 
Pippa singing this old folk-song, "A king lived long ago," as she 
passes the tower where he is. He sees how he has misjudged his 
ruler, and becomes a real patriot. . . . As Pippa passes the house of 
the Bishop' he is planning her death because she is the child of his 
brother, at whose death he connived and whose property he is enjoy- 
ing. When he hears the song, "Over-head the tree-tops 111660 his 
conscience is aroused and he repents. ... At last tired with her day's 
fancies, Pippa returns to her squalid room, unconscious of the great 
work she has done. As she lies down to sleep, she thinks of the silk 
she may weave as possibly destined to adorn Ottima's cloak, and she 
sings "The Day's Close in Asolo." Having rekindled the flame of love 
and devotion in the hearts of these great ones, Pippa is really happier 
than they. 

2. Cavalier Tunes: 

"Marching Along" is the first of the "Tunes" which voice the 
feelings of the supporters of the royal cause at three different stages 
of the struggle. They are meant to portray the spirit of the adherents 
of Charles I, and their hatred of the Puritans, or Roundheads. The 
first represents the spirit of the Byngs just before the hoisting of the 
royal standard at Nottingham at the outbreak of the war. "Give a 
Rouse" represents the assembling cavaliers in the ancient banqueting 
hall, where, amid shouts of the followers of Charles and the clinking 
of glasses, a toast is proposed to their picturesque leader, King Charles. 
The spirit of loyalty, the enthusiasm, the dash and daring, give this 
scene animation and power. "Boot and Saddle" describes the Parlia- 
mentary cause in triumph and tells of the few royalist castles in remote 
parts of the country still holding out. 

3. The Pied Piper of Hamelin : 

In mediaeval legend, a magician who in the year 1284, for a stipu- 
lated sum of money, freed the town of Hamelin from a plague of rats 
by playing on his pipe and leading the vermin, which followed the 
music, into the river where they were drowned. When the townsmen 
refused to pay the money, the piper returned, and, again playing on 
his magical pipe, led the way through the Biingen-Strasse out of the 
town, this time followed by one-hundred and thirty children. He led 
them to a hill called the Koppenberg, into which they all entered and 
disappeared. The event is recorded in inscriptions on the Rathaus 
and elsewhere in the town, and was long regarded as historical. This 
poem is full of fancy and moving melody. 

4. My Last Duchess : 

The Duke is showing the portrait of his former wife to the envoy 
with whom he is arranging for a second marriage with the daughter 
of a nobleman. He is glad to have his picture praised, even though it 
be for the very reason on account of which he "stopped those smiles." 
With the air of a virtuoso he allows no one to draw the curtain, not 
because of love for memory of the Duchess, but for the love of art. 



122 



There is a delicate bit of humor in the allusion to Neptune taming 
the sea horse, to reveal how the Duke would tame all future duchesses. 
This poem records the happy and generous spirit of the Duchess, and 
the tyranny and selfish egoism of a soul (the Duke) dead to the life 
around him. The scene, Ferrara, is a town in North Italy, not far from 
V enice. 

5. Count Gismond: 

This is an imaginary episode of the days of chivalry. It relates 
how a young girl had been chosen queen of a tournament ; and how 
a false knight, instigated by two cousins who were jealous of her 
beauty, accused her, in the open field, of being unfit to bestow a crown ; 
how a true knight who loved her, killed the lie by a blow struck at the 
liar's mouth ; and then, mortally wounding him in single combat, 
dragged him to retract it at the lady's feet; how he laid his protecting 
arm around her, and led her away to the southern home where she is 
now his proud and happy wife, with sons growing up to resemble him. 
— Orr. 

6. "De Gustibus:" 

This poem illustrates the difference of tastes by the respective 
attractions of English and Italian scenery, and of the ideas and images 
connected with them. Some one is apostrophizing a friend, whose 
ghost he is convinced will be found haunting an English lane, with its 
adjoining corn-field and hazel-coppice : where in the early summer 
the blackbird sings, and the bean-flower scents the air. And he de- 
clares at the same time that Italy is the land of his own love, whether 
his home there be a castle in the Apennine, or some house on its 
southern shore; among "wind-grieved" heights, or on the edge of an 
opaque blue sea ; amidst a drought and stillness in which the very 
cicala dies, and. the cypress seems to rust ; and scorpions drop and 
crawl from the peeling walls. . . and where "a bare-footed girl tum- 
bles green melons on the ground before you, as she gives news of the 
last attack on the Bourbon king." — Orr. 

7. "Herve Riel:" 

This poem commemorates the skill, courage, and singleness of 
heart of a Breton sailor who saved the French squadron when beaten 
at Cape la Hogue and flying before the English to St. Malo, by guid- 
ing it through the shallows of the river Ranee, in a manner declared 
impracticable by the Maloese themselves : being all the while so un- 
conscious of the service he was rendering, that, when desired to name 
his reward, he begged for a whole day's holiday, to run home and see 
his wife. His home was Le Croisic. — Orr. 

8. Home Thoughts, from Abroad : 

This selection is a longing reminiscence of an English April and 
May, with their young leaves and their blossoms, their sunshine and 
their dew, their song of the chaffinch, and their rapturous music ' of 
the thrush. Appreciation is heightened by contrast, and the buttercup 
— England's gift to her little children — is pronounced far brighter 
than the "gaudy melon-flower" — which the exiled Englishman has at 
this moment before him. — Orr. 

9. Home Thoughts, from the Sea: 



133 



An utterance of patriotic pride and gratitude, aroused in the mind 
of an Englishman, by the sudden appearance of Trafalgar in the blood- 
red glow of the southern setting sun. — Orr. 

10. How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix: 

This is an imaginary picture. It is that of three horsemen gal- 
loping to save the life of their town; galloping without rest, from 
moonset to sunrise, from sunrise into the fjlaze of noon; one horse 
dropping dead on the way, the second, within sight of the goal ; and 
the third, Roland, urged on by frantic exertions on his rider's part — 
the blood filling his nostrils, and starting in red circles round his eyes 
— galloping into the market-place of Aix; to rest there with his head 
between his master's knees, while the last measure of wine which the 
city contains is being poured down his throat. — Orr. 

11. Incident of the French Camp: 

A soldier boy of the army of Napoleon has received his death 
wound in planting the Imperial flag within the walls of Ratisbon. He 
contrives by a supreme effort to gallop out to the Emperor — who has 
watched the storming of the city from a mound a mile or two away — 
fling himself from the horse, and, holding himself erect by its mane, 
announce the victory. No sigh of pain escapes him. But when Na- 
poleon suddenly explains : "You are wounded," the soldier's pride in 
him is touched. "I am killed, Sir," he replies ; and, smiling, falls 
dead at the Emperor's feet. The story is true ; but its actual hero 
was a man. — Orr. 

12. Instans Tyrannus (The Threatening Tyrant). 

This is the confession of a king, who has been possessed by an un- 
reasoning and uncontrolled hatred for one man. This man was his 
subject, but so friendless and obscure that no hatred could touch, so 
stupid or so upright, that no temptation could lure him into his enemy's 
power. The King became exasperated by the very smallness of the 
creature which thus kept him at bay; drew the line of persecution 
closer and closer; and at last ran his victim-to earth. But, at the 
critical moment, the man so long passive and cowering threw himself 
on the protection of God. The King saw, in a sudden revulsion of 
feeling, an Arm thrown out from the sky, and the "wretch" he had 
striven to crush' safely enfolded in it. Then he in his turn — was — 
"afraid."— Orr. 

13. The Italian in England: 

This is the supposed adventure of a leading Italian patriot, told 
by himself in later years. He tells how he was hiding from the Aus- , 
trians, who had put a price upon his head, and were scouring the 
country in pursuit of him; how, impelled by hunger, he disclosed his 
place of concealment to a peasant girl — the last of a troop of villagers 
who were passing by; and how she saved his life at the risk of her 
own, and when she would have been paid in gold for betraying him. 
He relates also that his first thoughts was to guard himself against 
betrayal by not telling her who he was ; but that her loyal eyes, 
her dignified form and carriage (perhaps too, the consummate tact 
with which she had responded to his signal) in another moment had 
put the thought to flight, and he fearlessly placed his own' and his 



124 



country's destiny in her hands. He is an exile in England now. 
Friends and brothers have made terms with the oppressor, and his 
home is no longer theirs. But among the wishes which still draw him 
to his native land, is one, less acknowledged than the rest and which 
perhaps lies deeper, that he may see that noble woman once more ; 
talk to her of the husband who was then her lover, of her children, and 
her home ; and, once more, as he did in parting from her' kiss her hand 
in gratitude, and lay his own blessing on her head. — Orr. 

14. The Lost Leader: 

This is a lament over the defection of a loved and honored chief. 
It breathes a tender regret for the moral injury he had inflicted upon 
himself ; and a high courage, saddened by the thought of lost support 
and lost illusions, but not shaken by it. The language of the poem 
shows the lost "leader" to have been a poet. It was suggested by 
Wordsworth, in his abandonment (with Southey and others) of the 
liberal cause. — Orr. 

15. The Patriot: 

This poem tells "an old story." Only this day a year ago, the 
"patriot" entered the city as its hero, amidst a frenzy of gratitude and 
joy. To-day he passes out of it through comparatively silent streets; 
for those for whom he labored last as first, are waiting for him at the 
foot of the scaffold. No infliction of physical pain or moral outrage is 
spared him as he goes. He is "safer so," he declares. The reward 
men have withheld awaits him at the hand of God. — Orr. 

16. Pheidippides: 

The facts related in this poem belong to Greek legendary history, 
and are told by Heroditus and other writers. When Athens was 
threatened by the invading Persians, she sent -a running messenger 
to Sparta, to demand help against the foreign foe. The mission was 
unsuccessful. But the "runner," Pheidippides, fell in on his return, 
with the god Pan ; and though alone among Greeks the Athenians re- 
fused to honor him, he promised to fight with them in the coming 
battle. Pheidippides was present, when this battle — that of Marathon 
— was fought and won. He "ran" once more, to announce the victory 
at Athens; and fell* dead, with the words, "Rejoice, we conquer!" 
on his lips. This death followed naturally on the excessive physical 
strain ; but Mr. Browning has used it as a connecting link between the 
historic and the imaginary parts of the idyl. According to this, Phei- 
dippides himself tells his first adventure, to the assembled rulers of 
Athens : depicting, in vivid words, the emotions which winged his 
course, and bore him onwards over mountains and through valleys, 
with the smooth swiftness of running fire ; and he also relates that 
Pan promised him a personal reward for his "toil'" which was to con- 
sist in release from it. This release he interprets as freedom to return 
home, and to marry the girl he loves. It meant a termination to his 
labors, more tragic, but far more glorious ; to die, proclaiming the 
victory which he had helped to secure. — Orr. 

17. Up at a Villa— Down in the City : 

This is a lively description of the amusements of the city, and the 
dullness of villa life, as contrasted by an Italian of quality, who is 

125 



bored to death in his country residence, but cannot afford the town. 
His account of the former gives a genuine impression of dreariness 
and monotony, for the villa is stuck on a mountain edge' where the 
summer is scorching and the winter bleak, where a "lean cypress" is 
the most conspicuous object in the foreground, and hills "smoked 
over" with "faint grey olive trees" fill in the back ; where on hot days 
the silence is only broken by the shrill chirp of the cicala, and the 
whining of bees around adjacent firs. But the other side of the 
picture, though sympathetically drawn, is a perfect parody of what 
is meant to convey. For the speaker's ideal "city" might be a big 
village, with its primitive customs, and its life all concentrated in the 
market-place or square; and it is precisely in the square that he is 
ambitious to live. There the church-bells sound, and the diligence 
rattles in' and the travelling doctor draws teeth or gives pills; there 
the punch-shop or the church procession displays itself, and the last 
proclamation of the duke or archbishop is posted up : It is never too 
hot, because of the fountains always splashing up in the centre; and 
the bright white houses, and green blinds, and painted shop-signs are 
a perpetual diversion to the eye. . . But alas! the price of food is 
prohibitive; and a man must live where he can. — Orr. 

18. Rabbi Ben Ezra: 

Ibn Ezra, or Abenezra (1092-1167), was a great Jewish scholar, 
poet, philosopher, and physician' who wandered over Europe, Asia, and 
Africa in pursuit of knowledge. According to him the soul is eternal, 
but it completes the first stage of its experience in the earthly life ; 
/and the climax of the earthly life is attained, not in the middle of it, 
but at its close. Age is therefore a period, not only of rest, but of 
fruition. Spiritual conflict is appropriate to youth. It is well that 
youth should sigh for the impossible, and, if needs be, blunder in the 
endeavor to improve what is. He would be a brute whose body could 
keep pace with his soul. The highest test of man's bodily powers is 
the distance to which they can project the soul on the way it must 
travel alone. Life is never to be judged merely by what's done, but 
rather by what's striven for. Satisfaction is in the struggle, even if 
actual material attainment be not reached; noble exercise of noble 
ideals is attainment. Life in the flesh is good, showering gifts alike 
on sense and brain. Nothing does or changes which has truly been. 
The flight of time is but the spinning of the potter's wheel to which 
we are as clay. This fleeting circumstance is but the machinery which 
stamps the soul (that vessel moulded for the Great Master's hand). 
And its latest impress is the best: though the base of the cup be 
adorned with laughing loves, while scull-like images constitute its 
rim. — Variorum. 

19. A Toccata of Galuppi's: 

This is a fantastic little vision of bygone Venice, evoked by the 
music of an old Venetian master*, and filling us with the sense of a 
joyous ephemeral existence, in which the glow of life is already struck 
by the shuddering chill of annihilation. The poet sees in this overture 
.or "touch piece" the pathos of the butterfly-life of the great voluptuous 
city, loving pleasure, and even knowledge, for themselves merely. 
The sutble analysis of the details of this musical composition, and the 



126 



suggestiveness of each to the Venetians of the two classes, lovers of 
pleasure and lovers of knowledge, is. at times baffling, even to the 
musical expert. 
20. Memorabilia : 

This poem shows the perspective of memory in 'a tribute to the 
poet Shelley. The memory of his first discovery of Shelley while cross- 
ing a tract of life otherwise uninteresting, gives the time and place dis- 
tract of life otherwise uninteresting, gives the time and place dis- 
tinction by suggesting as did the eagle's feather that there are men 
who, while they inhabit the upper regions, at times drop celestial 
plumage in the path of ordinary mortals. Shelley's fugitive contact 
with a commonplace life, like the trace of an eagle's passage across 
the moor, leaves an illumined spot amidst blankness. 



THE IDYLLS OF THE KING (1859-1885) 

Poet: 

ALFRED LORD TENNYSON— "The most representative of 
his age." 

Born at Somersby, Lincolnshire, England, August 6, 1809. 
Died at Aldworth House, Surrey, England, October 6, 1892. Poet, 
thinker, artist, prophet; taught Latin and Greek by his father, a 
well-trained scholar ; shy, morbidly sensitive, silent ; had a natural 
reserve. Went to Trinity College, Cambridge; deep friendship 
for Arthur Hallam ; union of strength and refinement ; a "right 
valiant, true-fighting, victorious heart, strong as a lion's, yet gen- 
tle, loving, and full of music — a genuine singer's heart." Poet 
Laureate, 1850; took a keen interest in political and scientific 
issues of his day ; science, he felt, would enrich poetry. A posi- 
tive genius for friendship; a peer in 1884; buried in Westminster 
Abbey. , . j 

Works: 

"Pomes by Two Brothers," 1827 ; "Poems Chiefly Lyrical," 
1830; "Poems," 1833; "Poems," 1842; "In Memoriam," 1850; 
"Charge of the Light Brigade," 1854; "Maud," 1855; "Enoch Ar- 
den," 1864; "Queen Mary," 1875; "Harold," 1876; "Tiresias and 
Other Poems," 1885; "Becker," 1886; "Locksley Hall Sixty Years 
After," 1886 ; "Demeter and Other Poems," 1889. 
Criticism : 

"Tennyson is the voice of the whole people, expressing in 
exquisite melody their doubts and their faith, their griefs and their 
triumphs. His theme is the reign of order — of law in the physical 
world, producing evolution, and of law in the spiritual world, 
working out the perfect man. The theme of the Tdylls' is the 
orderly development of law in the natural and in the spiritual 
world. He finds law even in the sorrows and losses of humanity, 



127 



and its purpose is the revelation of divine love. Because law and 
love are in the world, faith is the only reasonable attitude toward 
life and death." — Long. "Tennyson is gifted with a master's 
strength and fineness of thought ; he is pre-eminently an artist in 
language — a poetic artist. His patriotism, his conservatism, his 
love of liberty, were in harmony with the underlying sentiment 
of the England of Victoria. The clearness and picturesqueness 
of his conceptions are beyond praise. They are as lucid as the 
morning, as distinct and vivid as noonday shadows. He is a 
master of pathos. He is the poet of nature and humanity, culture 
and morality. In his hands the old mediaeval legends are modern- 
ized into a great spiritual parable. ,, — Crawshaw. "Tennyson 
added a sense of decorative beauty, faintly archaic and Italian, 
an unprecedented refinement and high finish in the execution of 
verse, and a philosophical sympathy with the broad outlines of 
such social and religious problems as were engaging the best 
minds of the age." — Garnett and Goss. He is graceful, melodious 
and tender. "The Idylls" are summer landscapes of a tender 
fancy weaving the myths of an ancient fable into modern verse, 
graceful pictures of heroic days blown by the winds of tradition 
into this hurly-burly age of sturdy fact and despotic practicality. 

Purpose of the Idylls: 

It is a tale "Shadowing Sense at War with Soul," ideal man- 
hood closed in real man. They show forth the kingship of the 
soul, and how only through that kingship the beast in man is sub- 
dued. Their message is a rebuke to the pride of the flesh, the 
crime of sense becomes the crime of malice, the ancient rebellion 
against the spiritual and God. 

Sources : 

The Arthurian Tales and Legends find their beginnings in : 
Sir Thomas Malory's (c. 1430-c. 1470) "Morte d'Arthur"; Geoffrey 
of Monmouth's (c. 1100-c. 1152) old Latin History of Britain; 
Robert Mace's (1124-1174) "Le Roman du Brut"— a translation of 
Geoffrey's history into Norman French with the addition 6f the 
story of the Round Table. - 

"The Arthurian tales soon spread over all Europe ; in France, 
in Germany, in Italy, down even to the court of Sicily, we find 
trouveres or minstrels carrying the legendary story by word of 
mouth and weaving about it many new elements. Whether there 
was a real King Arthur, a historical person, matters little. Those 
who hold that there was a real King Arthur place him in the sixth 
century, as leader of the Celtic tribes against Saxon invaders, and 
affirm that he met his death in the battle of Badon Hill, near 
Bath, in 520. This king, however, is but a shadow to the King 
Arthur of chivalrous tales." — Hart. 

"While faithful to the inspiration of his source, the poet not 
only remodeled and refined Malory's crude material, but has re- 
created the story without losing its profound ethical value, and 
adapted it with consummate artistic skill to modern appreciation 
without sacrificing its mediaeval spirit." — Patten. 



128 



The Idyll: 

"The idyll is commonly defined as a short poem descriptive 
of some picturesque incident or scene, chiefly in rustic life. This 
limitation to rustic life is. not inherent, for the idyll may include 
legends of Gods, passages of personal experience, and town life. 
In that there is a narrator the idyll is like an epic. It is essential, 
however, that the scenic background, which in the idyll must 
always be a conspicuous element, shall not be merely decorative, 
but shall vitally interpret and give color to the feeling that consti- 
tutes the centre of the poem." — Hart. 

The Idylls : 

The Passing of Arthur, 1869. 
Enid, 1859. 
Vivien, 1859. 
Elaine, 1859. 

Guinevere, 1859. - ^ 
The Coming of Arthur, 1869. 
The Holy Grail, 1869. 
Pelleas and Ettarre, 1869. 
The Last Tournament, 1872. 
Gareth and Lynette, 1872. 
Bailin and Balan, 1885. 
The Marriage of Geraint, 1869. 

The Round Table : 

The Round Table was an order of knighthood established by 
King Arthur. It took its name from the round table at which the 
king and his knights sat for meals. At the marriage of Guinevere 
and Arthur, Leodogran is said to have sent to Arthur as a present 
this great round table, and a hundred knights with it. Some say 
that there were a hundred and fifty seats at the table; one hun- 
dred belonged to the hundred knights who came with the Round 
Table, about thirty were filled by Merlin, and the remaining 
twenty were left open to those who might win a place by their 
knightliness. One seat was called the 'siege' or 'seat perilous' 
because it was death to any knight to sit upon it unless he were 
the knight whose achievement of the Holy Grail was certain. 
(See the "Vision of Sir Launfal.") 

Symbolism in the Idylls: 

King Arthur stands for the godlike man, as a kind of dream 
or hope of what manhood might attain should it reach its ideal. 
He expresses the aspiration of the spirit toward perfection in our 
modern life. He symbolizes the struggle of man towards a higher 
life. The Idylls insist upon the doctrine of the fundamental need 
of the purity and permanency of the family in order tc insure 
human growth and progress. We pass from the time when we 
see the springtime of the Round Table, when all is fresh and fair, 
without taint or flaw amongst Arthur's knighthood ; to the ripe 
summertime when corruption is beginning to creep into Arthur's 
domain ; finally, to the "yellowing woods" and the "withered leaf" 
of autumn and winter when all the harmony and virtue has broken 



129 



into discord and crime, and the order established among men by 
Divine Wisdom is disturbed by sin. Arthur, the spiritual man, 
despite of the sin, the crime, and the treachery about him, stands 
proof, passing from the old order in the flesh to the new order in 
the spirit. 

Gareth and Lynette 

" 'Gareth and Lynette' shows Arthur crowned king and delivering 
justice. It is a picture of his realm in the bloom and purity of its 
youthfulness, when wrongs were brought to Arthur's court sure of 
redress, when knights rode forth to do battle for all good causes, 
when noble lads dreamed of no more glorious thing than to be found 
worthy of Arthur's fellowship. The poem is attuned to a note of 
gladness and hope and unquenchable faith in victory, for there taint 
of sin has not entered. Gareth is the embodiment of all these quali- 
ties. He is the type of the spiritualized man victorious over time and 
death."— Hart. 

"Gareth is 'the last tall son of Lot and Bellicent' (sister to King 
Arthur), the best beloved of his mother, who cherishes him in fond 
solicitude apart from the busy ways of men." This idle and unprofit- 
able life grows irksome to the budding manhood of the restive youth, in 
whose bosom flames that unquenchable aspiration of the noble soul 
to the fame of great deeds done for the King's sake. He urges his 
suit with more than the keen impetuosity of youth. The ardor of his 
aspiration burns away the natural bonds of affection; but he yields 
obedience and seeks his mother's consent. She, in her doting love, 
would hold him back. She pictures a life of ease and safety for him 
on his ancestral domains "with some comfortable bride and fair" and 
amid the pleasures of the chase. But this were a life of sloth and 
shame to a soul- that sees. Gareth pines to "Follow Christ, the King, 
live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow the King — else wherefore 
born ?" 

Seeing that the comforts and the allurements of senses cannot 
shake Gareth from his high purpose, Bellicent yields to his impor- 
tunity on one condition : that he walk through fire and smoke to the 
attainment of his object — he must serve a twelve-month and a day as a 
scullion in Arthur's kitchen. But to the spiritual man the lowlier the 
service the higher the virtue. Gareth is not princely proud, and sooty 
kitchen vassalage cannot demean him or sully his noble nature. 

Gareth, with two henchmen, takes his departure for Camelot, the 
city where Arthur holds his court. Like the men with him, he is clad 
as a tiller of the soil ; he, a prince royal, in outer semblance as lowly 
as the lowliest, to teach the high lesson that it is not the outward 
show that indicates the true man. Gareth's henchmen grow fearful 
at the weird appearance of the mystic city, anon flashing through and 
then vanishing in the shifting mists of morning. The city is built to 
music, because music represents the principle of harmony and beauty. 
It represents the spiritual elements of culture and civlization which 
Arthur would bring into his kingdom. The two tillers become reluct- 
ant to go further, and beg Gareth to turn back home and desert an 
enterprise where magic seems to play the chief part. But Gareth 
laughs at their churlish fear. 



130 



Soon a gray-bearded sage, type of wisdom, comes out from the 
city, and inquires who they are. Gareth replies that they are tillers 
of the soil come to see the glory of Arthur's city, and at the same 
time begs the graybeard to convince his skeptical followers of the 
city's reality. Sensual man see only that which is visible to the eye 
and nothing else. The spiritual kingdom at Camelot is entered only 
through the gate of Religion. He who would enter this spiritual 
city must first see himself as he really is, and so learn to cleanse him- 
self from all taint of all untruth. Unless he be so purified, the spiritual 
city will be but an illusion and a mockery to him. 

Gareth serves as kitchen scullion, and his humility and obedience 
are well tested at the hands of Sir Kay the seneschal. In good time 
Gareth is released by his mother from the need of staying in kitchen 
vassalage. Gareth's flushing joy when he heard that he was free to ask 
Arthur to receive him as his knight in secret is a pretty, human touch. 
The king requires the vow of him, and tells him that Lancelot must 
know, but that if Gareth were concealing his name for the sake of ex- 
citing more wonder and applause later, he would never be true knight, 
because it is "for the deed's sake my knighthood do the deed." 

At this time the damsel, Lynette comes to Arthur's court to per- 
suade Sir Lancelot to undertake a quest against four redoubtable 
knights who hold her sister, Lyonors, a prisoner in the Castle Perilous, 
around which, in three loops, runs a rapid river. At each of the passes 
of this three-looped stream abides one of the four knights to guard the 
ford against all comers ; the fourth dwells unseen under the castle walls 
in the horror of a mysterious silence. Gareth is granted the quest, to 
the confusion and indignation of the petulent Lynette. Secretly Lance- 
lot is bidden by the king to ride after and guard the youth should he 
meet disaster. Lynette, type of vanity of the world, can see no virtue 
in lowliness, and estimates human worth by human appearances. 
Lynette's saucy taunting never dulls the youth's high courage or be- 
trays him into fretful word, for he goes in the May-time, with buoyant 
heart, to win victory ahead. 

After an adventure with bandits, in which Gareth shows his 
prowess, which but picks Lynette to keener railing, accounting his 
success mere mishap and mischance, they approach the first pass. 
The guardian of this pass calls himself the Morning Star. At his 
command three maidens, "in gilt and rosy raiment," whom he terms 
'Daughters of the Dawn,' approach and arm him. The Knight of 
the Morning Star symbolizes Youth, and his home is the abode of 
pleasure. Youth, the season of pleasure, with its temptations, guards 
the first pass of the river Life, which the spiritual man in his mortal 
journey must cross. Gareth is victorious, but Lynette still reviles and 
discredits him. 

The Noonday Sun, ablaze with a blinding light, is the season 
of middle age, glowing fierce with the ambitions of the world. He 
guards the second loop of the river of life. His "cipher face of 
rounded foolishness" is emblematic of the fol-ly of ambition. Sharp 
and rough is the battle with him, blow for blow, buffet for buffet, 
until he, too, goes under in his struggle with the spiritual man, 
Gareth is now allowed to ride at Lynette's side — a sign of her relent- 
ing and softening feelings. 



131 



But in that moment of budding triumph, Gareth is met and over- 
thrown by an unknown knight. When Gareth learns it is the great 
Lancelot, his gladness breaks out afresh, in spite of Lynette's harsh 
words. Lancelot commends Gareth, pronouncing him a worthy knight 
of Arthur. Lancelot clearly implies it is not Gareth's physical prowess 
only that makes him fit for the fellowship, but the restraint and con- 
trol and manliness of his spirit through trying circumstances. To 
Lynette all this comes as a new enlightenment, and makes her more 
conscious of a feeling for Gareth she has not been willing to recognize. 

At the third loop the Knight of the Evening Star stands guard. 
He is clothed in hardened skins, that fit him like his own. Lynette 
attempts to discourage Gareth and invites him to go back to Arthur's 
castle. But Gareth declares that the same strength which threw 
the Morning Star can throw the Evening Star. This knight represents 
old age, encased in the toughened habits of a lifetime, fitting like 
a hardened skin as close as his own. Who has not overcome the 
passions of youth, conquered the ambitions of manhood, will not 
subdue the vicious uses of a lifetime that has become a second nature 
in old age. Gareth wars against the ill uses of a life that become 
masters of those who have them. Victory again favors the spiritual 
man. 

Gareth's threefold victory has at last beaten down Lynette's 
worldly prejudices. She confesses her shame at having reviled him. 
She thought the King had scorned her and hers in sending one so 
ignoble on the quest, when she had asked for the noblest. Gareth re- 
plies simply that she should not have doubted the king : "You said 
your say, mine answer was the deed." Let the world revile as it may, 
the deed is the answer of the spiritual man in the service of the King. 
Lynette now conducts the thrice-victorious Gareth to a cave hard by, 
provided by Lady Lyonors with meat and wine for her coming cham- 
pion. 

In the last encounter with Death, Gareth expects to be put on 
his mettle as never before. It was hard to slay the sins of the morn- 
ing of life; still harder to slay those of middle life in the contest with 
Noon-Day Sun, whom Gareth met mid-stream ; and then to slay the 
sins of the Night, old habits ; but Death is the mightiest foe in the war 
of Time against the soul of man. When Gareth struck, however, to his 
amazement Death yielded, and there "issued the bright face of a 
blooming boy, fresh as a flower new-born." So the poet weaves in his 
conception of Death as the beginning of a new and fair life. And the 
spiritual man who has overcome Pleasure, Ambition, and their ill uses, 
by that same strength overthrows Death. 

The powers of Sense had hoped to hold the Soul, whom Lady 
Lyonors here symbolizes, prisoner against the coming of the spiritual 
man. They never dreamed the passes would be passed. If the powers 
of Sense be suffered to usurp all the uses of life the Soul is held in 
bondage, and Death rides triumphant in all the ghastly imageries of 
that which life has done with. It is the knightly quest of the spiritual 
man to combat and overcome these evil powers. Victory over them 
makes Victory over Death easy. So is Death stripped of all its terrors, 
and only dreadful in the foolish fear of the slaves of Sense. Lynette 
succeeds admirably in bringing out Gareth as the embodiment of phy- 



132 



sical and spiritual courage, of the ideal of Arthur's court in its best 
days, when all the knights sought to "live pure, speak true, right 
wrong, follow the king." 

Lancelot and Elaine. 

In the story of "Lancelot and Elaine," the darkness that is slowly 
drawing near Arthur's court grows deeper as the Queen's sin spreads 
its poison amongst the Knights of the Round Table. Its somber 
gloom had fallen bitterly over the lives of many of the best knights 
and ladies. Upon the innocent Elaine the black thunderbolt fell and 
killed. The story aims to present a parallelism between the pure love 
of Elaine and the guilty love of Guinevere, and to show that a wrong 
done only in thought brings its terrible punishment to Lancelot and 
Guinevere and to the innocent Elaine. 

In the "Coming of Arthur" Tennyson tells us that it was Lancelot 
who was sent to bring Guinevere from her father's home to wed Ar- 
thur; and it was Lancelot to whom the queen gave her deepest love. 
Lancelot loved Guinevere in return, in spite of his being Arthur's 
most trusted friend and knight. The conflict of feeling within the 
heart of Lancelot, the struggle of his nature againt this disloyalty, 
is revealed in this idyll with poignant sympathy. 

Arthur, for eight years past, has proclaimed a joust, the winner 
of which is to have a priceless diamond. Only one more diamond 
remains, and at this joust, Lancelot, who has been victor in all the 
others, says he is not to be present. He divines that the queen would 
have him not go, but on discovering his mistake, he decides to make 
the excuse for his change of mind which the queen frames for him 
to give Arthur — that as an unknown combatant he would enter the 
lists, since the mere name of Lancelot helped him to conquest. Guine- 
vere reveals her dissatisfaction with Arthur's love. Arthur is too 
perfect for her; a man "who hath no faujj: at all." She prefers^ one 
with a "touch of earth." As Lancelot rides away to the joust, deep 
in bitter fancies, he loses his course and comes to a castle where dwells 
the Lord of Astolat, his sons Torre and Lavaine. and his daughter, 
Elaine, the fair. Lancelot asks that he may leave his shield, which he 
brought by mistake, for he would enter the lists unknown. In the 
castle hall that night he tells the story of Arthur's great wars to the 
listening group, Lavaine "rapt with all the sweet and sudden passion 
of youth toward greatness," and Elaine, as Desdemona of old, stirred 
to love by the recital of such splendid exploits in which Lancelot had 
part. In the morning she makes bold to ask Lancelot to wear her 
favor at the tourney, and pleads that since he never has worn favor 
of any lady, it will the better conceal his identity. 

When Lancelot and young Lavaine entered the lists, the former 
bore down all who opposed him, but received an almost mortal wound. 
King Arthur sent Gawain to deliver the diamond with high praise to 
him who showed such prowess. But Gawain, coming to Astolat, dis- 
covered, through Lancelot's shield, who the unknown knight was, 
and finding that Elaine loved Lancelot, he gave her the diamond to 
deliver. Elaine pleads prettily with her father to let her go to the 
wounded knight and minister to him until he is healed, not realizing 
that the sight of his suffering would wring her heart. When she 



133 



sees him her love overmasters her, and later she confesses the secret 
of her heart to Lancelot. This love of Elaine is her doom. When 
she goes back to her father's house, it is only to make ready for the 
death that she feels approaching. When her father tries to wean her 
from her love by telling her of Lancelot's devotion to the queen, she 
begs him to desist, and let her pass from life with what is now her 
glory, "to have loved one who is peerless and without stain." Lance- 
lot's sin clings to him like some poisonous vine to the oak, stifling all 
the sturdy growth of his manhood and sending its noisome humor into 
his blood. He rejects the pure love of Elaine for the unhallowed pas- 
sion of Guinevere. "His honor rooted in dishonor stood, and faith un- 
faithful made him falsely true." 

Elaine's death barge floats down the river to Arthur's court just 
at the moment that Guinevere, full of jealousy that Lancelot should 
have worn the favor of another, flings from the window the diamonds 
that Lancelot has given her. It is a striking contrast — Guinevere in 
the violence of her unhallowed passion, Elaine in death made more 
beautiful by her strong and pure affection. From the letter in Elaine's 
hand Arthur and the court learn her sad story; even the queen is 
chastened by it, and they give her noble burial. Lancelot now real- 
izes the tenderness and sincerity of Elaine's love. He sees the ideal 
love that woman might have brought him had he not sinned and lost 
it, and he sees, more clearly than ever (before, that nothing profits him 
of the renown he has won as knight in being convicted within himself 
of falseness to Arthur. Elaine's pure love is everywhere heightened 
by the. jealous, tumultuous love of the queen. The death of Elaine 
and the petulent jealousy of the queen drive the sword of remorse 
deep into Lancelot's soul. He wrestles with the demon of his sin, 
a noble soul fighting a great vice. But he does not come out victor 
in the struggle with himself. He weakly puts his will in the queen's 
keeping and remains an ignoble prisoner to his shame. 

So the current of iniquity sweeps onward, broadening as it flows, 
its bitter source the poisoned fount of the queen's guilty love. All that 
fair life, builded up to the music of order and justice into the spiritual 
city, is seeping into ruins. The canker is eating into the heart of the 
Round Table. 

The Passing of Arthur 

The "Passing of Arthur" gives the picture of the last dim battle in 
the West and the death of the king. The story is told through imagery 
very sombre and solemn in tone, befitting the ruin of great hopes. The 
smouldering fires of treason have now broken out in open rebellion, 
and from Almesbury the king goes to fight that last great fight before 
he passes. Arthur is forewarned of his coming departure by the ghost 
of Gawaih, light of love and faithless to his friend, now forever blown 
about upon a wandering wind. Modred, the traitor, has made known 
the love of Guinevere and Lancelot, and Guinereve in sorrow has fled 
to the nuns at Almesbury. Arthur has gone northward to attack 
Lancelot, and in his absence Modred has raised the standard of rebel- 
lion and proclaimed himself king. Returning from the north to pun- 
ish Modred, Arthur has had his last meeting with the repentent 
queen. The world seems dark and confused to the king; trusted friend 



134 



and wife have been untrue ; the Round Table is dissolved by the sin 
that has crept in among the knights. External nature is harmonized 
with the mood of the saddened king. The account of the great battle 
is given with a largeness and mystery which intensify the sense of 
desolation. Friend kills friend or foe, not knowing whom he strikes, 
until at the close of day the king is left alone with Bedivere, wounded 
mortally in the last combat with Modred. Bedivere, in full puissance 
of faith, hails Arthur king even in that last extremity. Modred, the 
traitor, suddenly appears near them, and Bedivere points «him out to 
the stricken king. With one blow of Excalibur (the enchanted weapon 
given Arthur by the Lady of the Lake, which never failed to hit its 
mark and which made Arthur immune from loss of blood and from 
death by wound) Arthur slays the traitor, Modred. Sorely wounded, 
Arthur commands Sir Bedivere to throw his brand Excalibur into the 
lake, and then report to him what happens. After being twice faith- 
less, through temptation of the riches of the hilt, Bedivere flings Ex- 
calibur into the mere, and reports to Arthur : 

"Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him, 
But when I looked again, behold, an arm 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 
That caught him by the hilt and brandished him 
Three times, and drew him under the mere." 
The soul's spiritual weapon, by which it had smitten its enemies 
in the battle of life, is returned to Religion, the Lady of the Lake; 
for there is no longer need of it on the journey to the Isles of Rest, 
where is no warfare, but peace and ease. Arthur is borne by Bedivere 
to the shore, where lies a black barge, dense with stately, black-hooded 
women. Three queens step forward to assist Arthur on board. Bedi- 
vere, at the king's command, places him on the barge, from which 
Arthur addresses him before departing : 

"The old order changeth, yielding place to new, 
And God fulfills Himself in many ways, 
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world." 
The time has come when the pearl is to be sundered from the 
shell, when the soul passes from the old order, life in the flesh, to the 
new order beyond space and time. Slowly moves the sable barge 
from the shore, and, with its wailing figures, vanishes beyond the 
horizon, and Bedivere stands gazing after it, 

. "Straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand." 
He has passed ; the spiritual fight is over. 

"And the new sun rose, bringing the new year." 



THE HOUSE OF SEVEN GABLES (1851) 

Author : 

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 

Born July 4th, 1804 in Salem, Mass. Puritan ancestry; his 

135 



father was a robust sea captain; his mother, a sensitive recluse; 
Nathaniel spent his boyhood mostly in Maine : at Bowdoin Col- 
lege in 1821 ; retirement at Salem from 1825-1838 ; clerk in Boston 
Custom House from 1839-1841 ; a member of the Brook Farm 
Community, 1841-1842; marriage, 1842; friend of Dana, Horatio 
Bridge, Longfellow, and Emerson; lived in the "Old Manse" at 
Concord; friendship with Channing and Thoreau; appointed sur- 
veyor of the port of Salem in 1845 ; appointed consul at Liver- 
pool, 1853 ; traveled through the capitols of Europe ; ill health 
and depression at the beginning of the Civil War ; died May 18, 
1864; his tablet in the Hall of Fame. 



Biographies : 

Julian Hawthorne's "Nathaniel Hawthorne and His Wife." 
George Lathrop's "A Study of Hawthorne." 

Henry James, Jr.'s "Life of Hawthorne" in the English Men of 



Appreciations and Criticisms: 

"The mind of this child of witch-haunted Salem loved to 
hover between the natural and the supernatural, and sought to 
tread the almost imperceptible and doubtful line of contact." — 
Curtis. 

"The sensitive youth was a recluse, upon whose imagination 
had fallen the gloomy mystery of Puritan life and character. . . 
There are many gleams upon the pages, but a strange, melancholy 
chill pervades the book." — Curtis. 

Vividness in reflecting New England life ; skilfull interweav- 
ing of the common things of everyday life with the mysteries 
that make themselves seen only to the eye of the artist ; gloomy 
Puritanism ; exquisite sensibility ; simple and masculine direct- ' 
ness ; dreamy contemplation ; charming and limpid flow of ex- 
pression ; ever pervasive but never obtrusive moral teaching; 
romantic, picturesque, vivid; comprehensive and convincing; dra- 
matic in both plot and characterization ; epic qualities ; autobi- 
ographical ; detailed descriptions and interpolations ; keen and ana- 
lytical in characterization ; psychological presentation of moods, 
disposition, and attitudes, realistic in his romanticism ; humorous 
in depicting the droll, the incongruous, and the ludicrous ; pathos 
and satire. 
The Moral of the Story: 

"The wrong-doing of one generation lives into the successive 
ones . . . the folly of tumbling down an avalanche of ill-gotten 



Works : 




Fanshawe 

Famous Old People 

Mosses from an Old Manse 

Stone Image 

Life of Franklin Pierce 

Our Old Home 

Twice Told Tales 

Stories for Children 



The Scarlet Letter 
Blithedale Romance 
Tanglewood Tales 
Grandfather's Chair 
Historical Tales for Youth 
True Stories from History. 
A Wonder Book 
The Marble Faun. 



Letters Series. 



136 



gold, or real estate, on the heads of an unfortunate posterity, 
thereby to maim and crush them until the accumulated mass 
shall be scattered abroad in its original atoms." 

The Story: 

Colonel Pyncheon claims the land belonging to Matthew Maule 
and supports the charge of witchcraft against the latter. Maule is 
executed after he prophesizes that "God will give him (Colonel Pynch- 
eon) blood to drink !" On the land so ill-begotten, the Puritan soldier 
builds the House of Seven Gables, Maule's son acting as architect and 
chief carpenter. On the day of consecration and in the presence of 
many of the district's notables, the Colonel is mysteriously found dead, 
with blood on his ruff. "God hath given him blood to drink !" The 
Colonel's posterity prove too weak to hold on to the many claims of 
land of the Pyncheons', and only the gloomy House, with its dim 
looking-glass, mysterious shapes and paintings' is handed down to 
the present occupant, Hepzibah Pyncheon, the aged and decayed gen- 
tlewoman. The house with its protruding gables is now — 160 years 
after its completion — an old, decaying, dusty, gusty, desolate, and 
grotesque structure, standing in the ominous shade of aged elms, 
and somewhat cheered by some flower-shrubs' called "Alice's Posies." 
In this house now live the ill-tempered old maid, Hepzibah, and Mr. 
Holgrave, an artist in the daguerreotype line. With many a sigh and 
palpitation of the heart, Hepzibah courageously overcomes her ancient 
family pride, and opens a little cent-shop in the venerable House of 
the Seven Gables. Holgrave congratulates her upon her action. Pass- 
ers-by cloud the prospects of success by their criticism of the scowling 
spinster-huckstress. The first day of business throws the tremulous 
old lady into qualms of discouragement and disappointment. Judge 
Jaffrey Pyncheon passes by frowning and then smiling. A little urchin 
bewilders the old maid with his demand for Jim Crow's and ginger- 
breads. Old Uncle Venner pays the antiquated lady a visit and in- 
structs her upon the rudiments of success in business. The miserable 
irksomeness of her duties now wear upon Hepzibah. The cheerful, 
little Phoebe Pyncheon arrives and quickly dispels the gloom of the 
chamber in which she spends the night. She adapts herself to her 
peculiar surroundings, and becomes a help and joy to Hepzibah. The 
two relatives speak of the strange Holgrave, the lodger in one of the 
gables. While on a tour of inspection in the adjoining garden, Phoebe 
is met by Holgrave. They speak of daguerreotypes and flowers and 
fowls. Phoebe is warned by Holgrave not to drink from nor bathe 
in Maule's bewitched well. Phoebe seems to be temporarily mastered 
by a strange and uncontrollable power. 

After a great deal of particular preparation and care in making 
breakfast the next morning, Hepzibah finally leads in her wavering 
and abstracted brother, Clifford, to the table. The latter is a wasted, 
gray, and melancholy figure, a material ghost. He is cheered by 
Phoebe's personality. Judge Pyncheon calls at the House and greets 
Phoebe with his apparently genial nature. Hepzibah refuses the 
Judge admittance to Clifford's presence. Clifford begs to be spared 
seeing the hypocritical Judge. Hepzibah's scowling appearance and 
her queer and quaint manners prove unbearable to the artistic sensi- 



137 



bility of her brother. Phoebe, however, throws a beneficial spell over 
the two, and particularly pleases Clifford. The Pyncheon garden and 
the breed of Pyncheon hens offer Clifford amusement. Among the 
flowers and the fowl, the weak Clifford, Holgrave, and Phoebe spend 
many pleasant hours. On Sundays Uncle Venner and Hepzibah 
would join the little party in the garden. (Throughout these scenes, 
the author indulges in a long, drawn-out' and minute anaylsis of the 
mental states of his chief characters, enlarging upon their influences 
upon one another, their reactions, and their sensibilities.) Through 
the arched window of the House, Clifford would often gaze on all 
objects that appealed to his sense of beauty : the organ-grinder and 
his monkey, processions of passers-by, and upon the genial life in the 
street. Clifford is restrained from plunging from the window, to sat- 
isfy, as he puts it, his desire for reality. The two age-stricken derelicts 
attempt to go to church, but Clifford's sensibility makes them change 
their plans. Phoebe has meanwhile undergone a change in spirit, be- 
coming moody and serious. .The versatile Holgrave presents his 
views against conventionalities, customs, and manners of the Past. 
He illustrates his principles by referring to the House of Seven Gables 
and the Pyncheons of the Past. Phoebe is strangely affected by Hol- 
grave's recital. From a manuscript he begins to read to the wondering 
Phoebe the horrible story of Alice Pyncheon. Matthew Maule, grand- 
son to the original owner of the Pyncheon land, is summoned to the 
House by the then occupant, the foreign-bred Pyncheon. The latter 
offers to surrender the House and its attached land to Maule, if the 
carpenter should inform Mr. Pyncheon of the whereabouts of the deed 
or document essential to the claim to the large stretch of territory 
in Maine, that the first Colonel Pyncheon nearly realized. During 
this scene the portrait of the relentless Colonel is said to have frowned 
and clenched its fist, as proof of his disapproval of the transaction. 
Matthew Maule accepts the offer, and calls for the assistance of 
young Alice, Mr. Pyncheon's daughter, to serve as a medium in the 
search for the valuable document. The carpenter hypnotizes the pure 
and noble Alice, to the extreme horrification of her father. While in 
her sleepy state Alice reveals the fact that the departed personages in 
control of the document refuse to tell of its present location. Maule 
is triumphant in his spiritual victory over the spirit of the previously 
proud Alice. From that day Alice is the slave to the carpenter's bid- 
ding, wherever she might be. Her weak body soon proves too feeble 
for the hideous power of the carpenter's wizardry, and she soon dies, 
to the grief of Maule himself. 

The above story throws an indissoluble spell over the now drowsy 
Phoebe. Holgrave draws his web tighter about Phoebe, until the 
sweet girl realizes the mesmeric powers of the daguerrotypist. The 
latter puzzles the simple Phoebe. At last she bids him good-bye, and 
enters the House to make ready for her departure. She bids all fare- 
well, not even forgetting Uucle Venner and the fowls in the garden. 
After her departure, the House becomes more forlorn and dreary 
than before. Clifford increases in his dislike for his sister's scowling 
appearance. Judge Pyncheon calls, and threatens Hepzibah that either 
she permit him to face Clifford in order to learn of the whereabouts 
of the document that would turn over to the Judge invaluable real- 



138 



estate or to suffer his confinement in an insane asylum. After long 
hesitation on the part of the faithful sister, and restrained vehemence 
on the Judge's side, Hepzibah yields, and consents to call Clifford. 
With nerves shaken and fear at her heart, she knocks at her brother's 
chamber-door, enters, and finds it destitute of its occupant. She re- 
turns to inform her cousin the Judge, and there meets Clifford, wild 
and maniacal, pointing at the stiff and lumpish philanthropist, sitting 
heavily in the ancestral armchair' — a corpse. "God had given him 
blood to drink!" Hepizbah and Clifford flee from the House of the 
Seven Gables. 

The two make their way through the streets of the world's broad, 
bleak, and comfortless atmosphere, and recklessly board an out-bound 
train. Here Clifford enters into a long, wild, and extravagant con- 
versation with an aged passenger, and expresses his views on the 
freedom of the body and the mind. Clifford's mind continually dwells 
on "the dead man, sitting in an arm-chair, with a blood-stain on his 
shirt-bosom" as he expostulates on modern inventions, their utility 
and their abuse. The two alight at a deserted spot, shivering and for- 
lorn. Meanwhile, in the bleak and dark parlor sits the Judge, stiff 
and stark. (At this point the author dramatically pictures the great 
enterprises and business affairs of the Judge, his numerous engage- 
ments, his prosperity, his popularity, his ambitions, and his rise to 
the Governorship of Massachusetts. All these wait upon the now 
rigid and pale Judge Pyncheon. Sportively and fancifully the author 
has the line of departed Pyncheons pass in review before the glazed 
eyes of the Judge. The fantastic scene fades away as the dawn of a 
new morrow approaches, and finds the Judge still motionless in the 
arm-chair). 

The tuft of crimson-spotted flowers, in the angle between the two 
front gables, named "Alice's Posies'" now flaunt in full bloom, sym- 
bolizing a satisfactory change in the affairs of the House of Seven 
Gables. The irrascible Mrs. Gubbins and the omniverous Ned Hig- 
gins find the door to the cent-shop locked to them. So do other cus- 
tomers and deliverers: The Italian and his monkey appear, followed 
by a throng of children. But the House still remains unopened. Phoe- 
be suddenly arrives, is puzzled by the general appearance of things, 
and finally enters the House through a mysteriously opened door. 
Frightened by the sudden hold of Holgrave, she soon learns of her 
cousins' flight and the Judge's death. The exclusive knowledge of 
Judge Pyncheon's mysterious death and their determination to safe- 
guard the reputations and innocence of the vanished' ones, bind 
Phoebe and Holgrave to each other. Holgrave opens his heart full 
of love to Phoebe, and the latter meets it with equal fervor. Suddenly 
the door opens from without, and the "two owls" appear at the thresh- 
old. 

Many theories of the Judge's death appear. The relationship of the 
Judge's father and Clifford who was convicted and imprisoned as a 
consequence of the former's death, provided much material for con- 
jecture and conclusion. Judge Pyncheon's son dies in England thus 
leaving the former's wealth to the present Pyncheons, and conse- 
quently to Holgrave. Clifford improves in health and Hepizbah in 
spirit. Holgrave presses the spring near Colonel Pyncheon's portrait, 



139 



the painting falls to the ground, and behind it is revealed a recess in 
the wall holding the long-sought-for and now valueless title. Hol- 
grave reveals his identity as a member of the Maule family, and tells 
how Matthew Maule, his ancestor, had hidden the now worthless 
document in the specially contrived niche behind the Colonel's por- 
trait. Hepzibah, Clifford, Phoebe, Holgrave (Maule), and even Old 
Venner depart from the horrible House to live in the mansion of the 
late Judge Pyncheon. They depart in a handsome carriage, to the 
surprise and amazement of the neighbors and gossips of the House 
of the Seven Gables. 

Characterization : 

Hepzibah Pyncheon : Tall, forbidding, scowling, near-sighted, ill- 
tempered, cross, tender-hearted, sensitive, tremulous, ludi- 
crous, petty, gaunt, sallow, grim, rusty- jointed, squeamish, 
hysterical, dismal, lonesome, stiff, unmallable, sluggish, un- 
couth, bitter, shrinking, forlorn, and decayed gentlewoman. 

Colonel Pyncheon : Iron energy of purpose ; common sense ; stern 
rigidity; dark and massive countenance; relentless prose- 
cutor; grasping and strong-willed; practical; crafty; close- 
fisted; autocratic; remorseless; imperious and bold. 

Matthew Maule: Obscure, stubborn, diligent, reserved, mys- 
terious, inflexibly obstinate ; stern, sarcastic, and scornful. 

Clifford: Wasted, gray, melancholy, torpid, refined, imaginative, 
sensible, nervous, shattered, peevish, crushed, forlorn, im- 
becilic, child-like ; chill torpor of his life ; delicately intelligent 
aspect; critical, fastidious, aesthetic; diseased mind; wild 
effervescence; shy, conservative, and retiring. 

Holgrave Maule: Respectable and orderly; well-meaning; self- 
dependent, strange, shifty, unconventional; calm and cool 
observer; analytical; reckless, mystical, enigmatic; deep con- 
sciousness of inward strength; a thinker. 

Judge Pyncheon : Large and portly gentleman ; sunniest com- 
placency and benevolence; impressive, courteous, kindly, 
stern, benign; martial deportment; sly, subtle, hard, stub- 
born, diffusive, sagacious, pretensious, relentless, immitigable, 
unctious, and sturdy. 

Phoebe: Young, blooming, cheerful, fresh, unconventional, or- 
derly, obedient, charming, graceful, pretty, trim, practical, 
airy, sweet, frank, genial, wholesome, youthful ; purifying in- 
fluence; tiny lightsomeness ; native kindliness. 

Alice Pyncheon: Fair, gentle* proud, cold, stately, tender, re- 
served. 

Uncle Venner: Rough, vigorous, wise, optimistic, shrewd, pleas- 
ant; a street philosopher; somewhat mentally deficient. 

Ned Higgins: Square and sturdy little urchin; marvelous feats 
of gastronomy. 

The House of the Seven Gables : Rusty, wooden, weather-beaten, 
quaint, antique, dilapidated, gloomy, threatening, mysterious, 
haunted. 



140 



SELECTIONS FROM LINCOLN (1832-1865) 
Chronological List of Events in the Life of Abraham Lincoln: 

Born in a log-cabin near Hodgensville, now Larue County, Ken- 
tucky t February 12, 1809 

Father moves with family into wilderness near Gentryville, In- 
diana 1816 

His mother dies, at the age of 35 1818 

His father's second marriage 1819 

Walks nine miles a day, going to and returning from school. . . .1826 
Makes a trip to New Orleans and back, at work on a flat-boat. . .1828 
Drives in an ox-cart with his father and stepmother to a clearing 

on the Sangamon River, near Decatur, Illinois 1829 

Splits rails, to surround the clearing with a fence 1829 

Makes another flat-boat trip to New Orleans and back, on which 
trip he first sees negroes shackled together in chains, and 

forms his opinions concerning slavery May, 1831 

Begins work in a store at New Salem, Illinois .August, 1831 

Enlists in the Black Hawk War; elected a captain of volunteers. .1832 
Announces himself a Whig candidate for the Legislature, and is 

defeated 1832 

Storekeeper, Postmaster, and Surveyor 1833 

Elected to the Illinois Legislature 1834 

Studies law at Springfield 1837 

Re-elected to the Legislature 1834 to 1842 

Is a Presidential elector on the Whig national ticket 1840 

Marries Mary Todd November, 1842 

Canvasses Illinois for Henry Clay 1844 

Elected to Congress 1846 

Supports General Taylor for President v 1848 

Engages in law practice 1849 to 1854 

Debates with Douglas at Peoria and Springfield 1855 

Aids in organizing the Republican party 1855-1856 

Joint debates in Illinois with Stephen A. Douglas 1858 

Makes political speeches in Ohio 1859 

Visits New York, and speaks at Cooper Union February, 1860 

Attends Republican State Convention at Decatur; declared to be 

the choice of Illinois for the Presidency May, 1860 

Elected President over Breckinridge, Douglas, and Bell, 

November, 1860 

Inaugurated President March 4, 1861 

Issues first orders for troops to put down the Rebellion. .April 15, 1861 

Urges McClellan to advance April, 1862 

Appeals for the support of border States to the Union cause, 

March-July, 1862 

Calls for 300,000 more troops July, 1862 

Issues Emancipation Proclamation January 1, 1863 

Thanks Grant for capture of Vicksburg July, 1863 

His address at Gettysburg November 19, 1863 

Calls for 500,000 volunteers July, 1864 

Renominated and re-elected President 1864 

Thanks Sherman for capture of Atlanta September, 1864 



141 



His second inauguration March 4, 1865 

Assassinated at Ford's Theatre, Washington, by John Booth, an 

actor April 14, 1865 

References : 

The best biography of Lincoln's life is that by J. G. Nicolay 
and John Hay. 

Carl Schurz's essay is an excellent short treatment of Lincoln 
as a man. 

The essays by Emerson and Lowell are likewise praiseworthy 
eulogies of Lincoln. 

Excerpts. 

I go for all sharing the privileges of the government who assist 
in bearing its burden. Consequently, I go for admitting all whites 
to the rights of suffrage who pay taxes or bear arms, by no means 
excluding females. — June 13, 1836. 

The one victory we can ever call complete will be that one which 
proclaims that there is not one slave or drunkard on the face of God's 
green earth. — February 22, 1842. 

I hold it a paramount duty for us in the free states, due to the 
union of states, and perhaps to liberty itself, to let the slavery of other 
states alone. — October 3, 1845. 

Resolve to be honest at all events; and if in your judgment you 
cannot be an honest lawyer, resolve to be honest without being a 
lawyer. — 1850. 

I think I have no prejudice against the Southern people. They 
are just what we would be in their situation. My first impulse would 
be to free all the slaves, and send them to Liberia, to their own native 
land.— October 16, 1854. 

When we were the political slaves of King George, and wanted 
to be free, we called that maxim that "all men are created equal" a 
self-evident truth, but now when we have grown fat, and have lost 
all dread of being slaves ourselves, we have become so greedy to be 
masters that we call the same maxim "a self-evident lie." Our political 
problem now is, "Can we as a nation continue together permanently — 
forever — half slave, and half free?" The problem is too mighty for me 
— may God in his mercy superintend the solution. — August 15, 1855. 

I confess I hate to see the poor creatures hunted down and caught 
and carried back to their stripes and unrequited toil ; but I bite my lips 
and keep quiet. I do oppose the extension of slavery, because my 
judgment and feeling so prompt me. — August 24, 1855. 

"A house divided against itself cannot stand." I believe this 
government cannot endure permanently, half slave and half free. I do 
not expect the union to be dissolved — I do not expect the house to fall 
— but I do expect it will cease to be divided. It will become all one 
thing, or all the other. We shall not fail — if we stand firm, we shall 
not fail.— June 16, 1858. 

All I ask for the negro is that if you do not like him, let him alone. 
If God gave him but little, that little let him enjoy. What I would 
most desire would be the separation of the white and black races. — 
July 17, 1858. 

I have no purpose to introduce political and social equality be- 



142 



tween the white and black races. — October 13, 1858. 

Speech at Cooper Union Institute, February 27, 1860. 

Lincoln undertakes to prove that the men who framed the Con- 
stitution of the United States believed that human slavery was wrong 
and that the national government had power to exclude it from nation- 
al territory, and he proves it. The proper division of local from federal 
authority, or anything in the Constitution, does not forbid our federal 
government to control as to slavery in our federal territories. In the 
instances of the accession of the Northwestern Territory, 1784, the 
Ordinance of 1787, the land cessions of North Carolina and Georgia, 
the organization of the territory of Mississippi, the Louisiana Pur- 
chase, 1803, the Missouri question — thirty of the original thirty-nine 
signers of the Constitution — twenty-three positively — give proof to 
the text that "our fathers when they framed the government under 
which we live" wished to prohibit the extension of slavery, and con- 
sidered it entirely within their power as a federal body to exercise 
such jurisdiction over incoming territories and states ; these instances 
prove that twenty-three of the "thirty-nine" fathers certainly under- 
stood that no proper division of local from federal authority, nor any 
part of the Constitution, forbade the federal government to control 
slavery in the federal territories. If slavery is right, all words, acts, 
laws, and constitutions against it are themselves wrong, and should be 
silenced and swept away. If it is right, we cannot justly object to its 
nationality — its universality; if it is wrong, they cannot justly insist 
upon its extension — its enlargement. Let us have faith that right 
makes might, and in that faith let us to the end dare to do our duty 
as we understand it. 

The man does not live who is more devoted to peace than I am, 
none who would do more to preserve it, but it may be necessary to put 
the foot down firmly. I trust that I may have their (the people's) 
Assistance in piloting the ship of state through this voyage, surrounded 
by perils as it is ; for if it should suffer wreck now, there will be no 
pilot ever needed for another voyage. — February 21, 1861. 

Independence Hall, February 22, 1861. 

If this country cannot be saved without giving up that principle 
(that all should have an equal chance), I was about to say I would 
rather be assassinated on this spot than surrender it. There is no 
need for bloodshed and war. I am not in favor of such a course ; and 
I may say that there will be no bloodshed unless it is forced upon 
the government. 

First Inaugural Address, March 4, 1861 

The people of the Southern States need have no apprehension 
that by the accession of a Republican administration their property 
and their peace and personal security are to be endangered. I have 
no purpose, directly or indirectly, to interfere with the institution of 
slavery in the states where it exists. Fugitive slaves shall be deliv- 
ered up by national or by state authorities. A disruption of the fed- 
eral Union, heretofore only menaced, is now formidably attempted. 
The Union of these states is perpetual. If the United States be but 



143 



an association of states in the nature of contract merely, can it, as a 
contract, be peaceably unmade by less than all the parties who made 
it ? One party to an contract may violate it — break it, so to speak ; but 
does it not require all to lawfully rescind it? No state upon its own 
motion can lawfully get out of the Union. The Union is unbroken. 
The laws will be faithfully executed in all the states. There need be 
no bloodshed or violence. The mails, unless repelled, will continue 
to be furnished in all parts of the Union. The Constitution has never 
been denied to any one. Plainly, the central idea of secession is the 
essence of anarchy. Constitutional questions are to be decided by 
the Supreme Court whether the decisions are erroneous or not. One 
section of our country believes slavery is right, and ought to be ex- 
tended, while the other believes it is wrong, and ought not to be 
extended. Physically speaking, we cannot separate. The country, 
with its institutions, belongs to the people who inhabit it. They can 
amend, or dismember or overthrow their government. In your hands, 
my dissatisfied fellow countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous 
issue of civil war. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be 
enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our 
bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from 
every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearth- 
stone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union 
when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of 
our nature. 

What I cannot do, of course I will not do, but it may as well be 
understood, once for all, that I shall not surrender this game leaving 
any available card unplayed. — July 26, 1862. 

I shall not do more than I can; and I shall do all I can to save 
the government, which is my sworn duty as well as my personal 
inclination. I shall do nothing in malice. What I deal with is too vast 
for malicious dealing. t 

Letter to Horace Greeley, Editor of the New York Tribune, 
August 22, 1862 

As to the policy I "seem to be pursuing," as you say, I have not 
meant to leave any one in doubt. I would save the Union. I would 
save it in the shortest way under the Constitution. If there be those 
who would not save the Union unless they could at the same time 
destroy slavery, I do not agree with them. If there be those who 
would not save the Union unless they could at the same time save 
slavery, I do not agree with them. My paramount object in this 
struggle is to save the Union, and is not either to save or destroy 
slavery. If I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would 
do it ; if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it ; and if I 
could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I would also do 
that. What I do about slavery and the colored race, I do because I 
believe it helps to save the Union ; and what I forbear, I forbear 
because I do not believe it would help to save the Union. 

Address at the Dedication of the National Cemetery at Gettysburg, 

November 19, 1863 

Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this 

144 



continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the 
proposition that all men are created equal. 

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that 
nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. 
We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedi- 
cate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here 
gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and 
proper that we should do this. 

But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate — we cannot consecrate 
— we cannot hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, 
who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to 
add or detract. The world will little note nor long remember what we 
say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the 
living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they 
who fought here have tm*is far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us 
to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from 
these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for 
which they gave the last full measure of devotion ; that we here highly 
resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain ; that this nation, 
under God, shall have a new birth of freedom ; and that government of 
the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the 
earth. 

Second Inaugural Address, March 4, 1865 

Little that is new could be presented. The progress of our arms 
has been reasonably successful and encouraging. Both parties depre- 
cated war, but one of them would make war rather than let the nation 
survive ; and the other would accept war rather than let it perish. And 
the war came. To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this interest 
(of slavery) was the object for which the insurgents would rend the 
Union, even by war; while the government claimed no right to do 
more than to restrict the territorial enlargement of it. Fondly do we 
hope — fervently do we pray — that this mighty scourge of war may 
speedily pass away. Yet if God wills that it continue until all the 
wealth piled by the bondman's two hundred and fifty years of unre- 
quited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the 
lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three 
thousand years ago, so still it must be said, "The judgments of the 
Lord are true and righteous altogether." 

With malice towards none ; with charity for all ; with firmness in 
the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the 
work we are in ; to bind up the nation's wounds ; to care for him who 
shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan — to do 
all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among our- 
selves, and with all nations. 

The Last Public Speech, April 11, 1865 

Lincoln's plan of Reconstruction : To bring back the seceded 
states and the territories into a proper practical relation with the 
Union. I sustain the new state government of Louisiana. I claimed 
no right as Chief Executive to say when or whether members should 
be admitted to seats in Congress from such states. The new eonsti- 



145 



tution of Louisiana declares (1) emancipation for the whole state; 
(2) does not adopt apprenticeship for freed people; (3) is silent about 
the admission of members to Congress. Louisiana can be brought into 
a proper practical relation with the Union sooner by sustaining it than 
by discarding her new state government. Concede that the new gov- 
ernment of Louisiana is only to what it should be as the egg is to the 
fowl, we shall sooner have the fowl by hatching the egg than by 
smashing it. 

Lincoln's Sentences: 

Simple, clear, logical, convincing, polished, choice, firm, balanced, 
periodic, epigrammatic, unaffected, emphatic, wise, varied, terse, ner- 
vous, direct. 

Estimates of Lincoln: 

Carl Schurz : The people knew that the man at the head of affairs, 
on whose haggard face the twinkle of humor so frequently changed 
into an expression of profoundest sadness, was more than any other 
deeply distressed by the suffering he witnessed ; that he felt the pain 
of every wound that was inflicted on the battlefield, and the anguish 
of every woman or child who had lost husband or father ; that when- 
ever he could he was eager to alleviate sorrow, and that his mercy was 
never implored in vain. They looked to him as one who was with 
them and of them in all their hopes and fears, their joys and sorrows 
— who laughed with them and wept with them; and as his heart was 
theirs, so their hearts turned to him. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson : A plain man of the people, a man without 
vices, with a strong sense of duty ; a great "worker ; was sound to the 
core, cheerful, persistent, all right for labor and liked nothing so well; 
a vast good nature which made him tolerant and accesible to all ; 
fair minded, affable; broad good humor running into jocular talk; 
wise ; was glad to meet every kind of man and every rank of society ; 
a middle-class President; as problems grew, so did his comprehension 
of them ; in four years — four years of battle-days — his endurance, his 
fertility of resources, his magnanimity, were sorely tried and never 
found wanting. There, by courage, his justice, his even temper, his 
fertile counsel, his humanity, he stood a heroic figure in the center of 
a heroic epoch ; father of his country, the pulse of twenty millions 
throbbing in his- heart, the thought of their minds articulated by his 
tongue. 

James Russell Lowell : A man whom America made, as God made 
Adam, out of the very earth, unancestried, unprivileged, unknown, to 
show us how much truth, how much magnanimity, and how much 
statecraft awaits the call of opportunity in simple manhood when it 
believes in the justice of God and the worth of man. The very home- 
liness of his genius was its distinction. He has left behind him a fame 
beyond that of any conqueror, the memory of a grace higher than that 
of outward person, and of a gentlemanliness deeper than mere 
breeding. 

146 ; 



THE SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY PAPERS (1711-1712) 
Authors : 

JOSEPH ADDISON : 

Born in Milston, England, May 1, 1672. Died at London, 
June 17, 1719. Sent to Queen's College, Oxford, obtains a schol- 
arship at Magdalen College; gets degree of M. A.; secures a 
fellowship ; travels on the continent ; made Commissioner of Ap- 
peals; made Under Secretary of State; Lord- Lieutenant of Ire- 
land; marries Countess of Warwick; Secretary of State; receives 
pension of £1,500 a year. 
RICHARD STEELE: 

Born in Dublin, Ireland, March 12, 1672. Died in Wales, 
Sept. 1, 1729. Sent tovthe Charterhouse; enters Christ's College, 
Oxford; postmaster of Merton College; enHsts in Horse Guards; 
loses his wife; made Gazetteer at £300 a year; Commissioner 
of the Stamp Office; enters Parliament; Patentee of Drury Lane 
Theatre; Knighted; death of Lady Steele; Commissioner of For- 
feited Estates for Scotland; retirement to Wales. 

Works : 

ADDISON : Latin Poems, "The Campaign," "Rosamond," an 
opera, Contributions to the "Tatler," "The Whig Examiner," 
"The Spectator," "Cato," a tragedy ; "The Drummer," a play ; 
"The Old Whig." 

STEELE: "The Christian Hero," "The Funeral," a comedy; 
"The Flying Lover," a comedy; "The Tender Husband," a 
comedy; "The Tatler," "The Spectator," "The Englishman," 
"The Conscious Lovers," a comedy. 

The Spectator: 

The Sir Roger De Coverley Papers are selections from five 
hundred and fifty-five daily issues of a sheet call the Spectator. 
This was a natural successor of another periodical of similar 
character — The Tatler, founded in London, in 1790, by Richard 
Steele. The general purpose of the Tatler was "to expose the 
false arts of life, to pull off the disguises of cunning, vanity, and 
affectation, and to recommend a general simplicity in our dress, 
our discourse, and our behavior." Beginning on March 1, 1711, 
The Spectator appeared every week-day until December 6, 1712. 
Addison furnished 274, and Steel, 236. Both were inspired with 
a wish to make the world better. They dealt good-humored 
but telling blows at all the fads and follies of the times; they 
shot arrows of sarcasm pointed with wit and winged with mirth ; 
they smilingly dissected the empty brain of the beau and the frivo- 
lous heart of the coquette ; they held up the vicious and the vain 
to the scorn of the thoughtful ; and they ended by making moral- 
ity respectable and vice ridiculous. Addison wrote to quicken the 
moral life ; to make men and women less idle, less vain, less frivo- 
lous ; to give loftier aims ; he comes simply, kindly, humorously, 
with an air of contempt for the fault, but no ill will to the crim- 
inal. 



147 



Style and Criticism : 

"For justness and ingenuity of reflection, clearness and force 
of reasoning, appositeness and beauty of illustration; knowledge 
without ostentation, but adapted to use; familiarity without 
meanness ; gravity without solemnity ; perspicuity, and propriety ; 
such are the prominent excellences of this matchless work. The 
Spectator makes deep impressions, affects the secret springs of 
the mind, charms the fancy, and soothes the passions. He leads 
the reader to sweetness of temper; rouses him to generosity and 
circulates humanity." 
The Period: 

The Reign of Queen Anne, 1702-1714. The period was 
marked by looseness of manners and sprightly licentiousness; 
drinking and dining, and supping and cards ; dressing and loung- 
ing 5 dissipation and corruption. Society was permeated with 
corrupt ideas and morals, and the strange fact is that these were 
openly accepted and approved. "Every man had his price." So- 
cial gatherings were based on a feverish craving, for excitement 
and admiration, or the laudable desire to kill time. The young 
beau imitated the fine gentlemen in all their weaknesses and sins, 
intensifying them in his "airy conceit" and lofty flippancy. The 
ladies "lay in bed till noon, dressed all the afternoon, drove in the 
evening, and played at cards till midnight." The men rose late, 
sauntered in the Mall — the fashionable promenade always full of 
idlers. The society man dressed elaborately and in his cocked 
hat, skirt-coat wired to make it stick out, ruffled linen, black silk 
hose, square toed shoes, and buckles, gaily betook himself to the 
coffee-house or chocolate-house. A period of hypocricy, dissimu- 
lation, superficiality, flattery and trifling. The coffee-house was 
"the center of news, the lounge of the idler, the rendezvous for 
appointments, the mart for business men. Clergymen, highway- 
men, noblemen, beggars, authors, beaux, courtiers, business men, 
collected here where coffee was good and cheap, conversation 
interesting and witty and where a free and easy atmosphere 
made each feel at home." 
I. The Spectator: 

I was born to a small hereditary estate. My mother dreamt that 
she was brought to bed of a judge. The gravity of my behavior at my 
first appearance in the world seemed to favor my mother's dream; for, 
I thre^ away my rattle before I was two months old. I had the repu- 
tation of a very sullen youth, but was always a favorite with my 
school-master, who used to say "that my parts were solid and'would 
wear well." I distinguished myself by a most profound silence; for 
during the space of eight years, I scarcely uttered the quantity of an 
hundred words; and indeed do not remember that I ever spoke three 
sentences together in my whole life. Left the University with the 
reputation of an old unaccountable fellow, that had a great deal of 
learning, if he would but show it. I made a voyage to Grand Cairo, 
Egypt, on purpose to take the measure of a pyramid. I am frequently 
seen in most public places, though there are not above half a dozen 
of my select friends that know me. I appear at the various coffee- 



148 



houses. Wherever I see a cluster of people, I always mix with them, 
though I never open my lips but in my own club. 1 live in the world 
rather as a Spectator of mankind than as one of the species. I must 
keep to myself, at least for some time, an account of my name, my 
age, and my belongings. — Addison. 

II. The Club: 

Sir Roger is a gentleman that is very singular in his behavior, 
but his singularities proceed from good sense. He does nothing with 
sourness or obstinacy. He is unconfined to modes and forms. He was 
disappointed in love by a beautiful widow and consequently grew 
careless of himself and his dress. He is now in his fifty-sixth year, 
cheerful, gay, and hearty ; keeps a good house in both town and coun- 
try; a great lover of mankind; rather beloved than esteemed; a justice 
of the quorum ; a bachelor. 

The Templar is another bachelor, who was a man of great probity, 
wit, and understanding; but he was interested more in other things 
than in the study of the laws. Passions are of greater interest to him 
than debates; disinterested and agreeable; possesses a just taste for 
books; familiar with customs, manners,* actions, and writing of the 
ancients; a delicate observer and excellent critic; refrains from talk- 
ing business. 

Sir Andrew Freeport is a merchant of great eminence, a person 
of indefatigable industry, strong reason, and great experiences. His 
notions of trade are noble and generous; peace-loving, fair and dili- 
gent ; abounds in frugal maxims, as "a penny saved is a penny got" ; a 
self-made man ; a clear unaffected speaker. 

Captain Sentry is a gentleman of great courage, good under- 
standing, but invincible modesty; very gallant; next heir to Sir 
Roger; left the world because he was not fit for it; realizes that a 
person must be pushing and forward to win military prominence, 
never overbearing nor too obsequious. 

Will Honeycomb, acquainted with the gallantries and pleasures 
of the age, is a gentleman very careful of his person and delightful 
in demeanor; had a very easy fortune, knew how to entertain women 
with his ''small talk"; was an assiduous society gossip, and in all, 
a well-bred, fine gentleman. Where women are not concerned he is 
an honest gentleman. 

The Clergyman is a seldom visitor, a very philosophic man, of 
general learning, great sancitity of life and the most exact good breed- 
ing ; weak constitution. Probity of his mind and the integrity of his 
life create him followers; a great authority on divine topics. — Steele. 

III. Sir Roger's Philosophy On Men of Fine Parts : 

Honesty and virtue should be placed above wit and sense. This 
affectation of being wise rather than honest, witty than good-natured, 
is the source of most of the ill habits of life. Men of fine parts de- 
serve to be hanged; while they enjoy the satisfaction of luxury, of 
wealth, of ambition, they have lost the taste of good will, of friend- 
ship, of innocence. I lay it down therefore for a rule, that the whole 
man ought to move together; that every action of any importance 
ought to have a prospect of public good; and that our indifferent ac- 
tions ought to be agreeable to the dictates of reason, of religion, of 



149 



good-breeding. Without this, says Sir Roger, a man is hopping instead 
of walking. He is not in his entire and proper motion. To polish our 
understandings and neglect our manners is of all things the most in- 
excusable. Reason should govern passion. What we do is just as 
important as how we do it. When modesty ceases to be the chief 
armament of one sex and integrity of the other, society is upon a 
wrong basis. The affectation of being gay and in fashion has nearly 
eaten up our good sense and our religion. Respect to superiors is 
founded upon instinct. The Athenians understood what was good, 
but the Spartans practiced it. This was illustrated by the latters' 
respect for the old gentleman who come too late for a seat at the 
games. — Steele. 

IV. Concessions to the Spectator: 

The whole city thought themselves very much obliged to me 
for declaring my generous intentions to scourge vice and folly as 
they appear in a multitude without condenscending to be a publisher 
of particular intrigues. Sir Roger warned me to take care that I did 
not meddle with country squires ; for, according to the Baronet, they 
were the ornaments of the English nation. The Clergymen under- 
took my cause. He believed that it was not quality, but innocence, 
which exempted men from reproof; that vice and folly ought to be 
attacked wherever they could be met with, and especially when they 
were placed in high and conspicuous stations of life. Later, all agreed 
that I should be at liberty to carry the war into what quarter I 
pleased, provided I continued to combat with criminals in a body, 
and to assault the vice without hurting" the person. In short if I 
meet with anything in city, court, or country, that shocks modesty 
or good manners, I shall use my utmost endeavors to make an example 
of it. I promise never to draw a faulty character which does not fit a 
thousand people ; or to publish a single paper that is not written in the 
spirit of benevolence and with a love to mankind. — Addison. 

V. Coverley Hall, or Sir Roger at Home : 

Sir Roger lets me rise and go to bed when I please, dine at his 
own table or in my chamber, as I think fit, sit still and say nothing 
without bidding me be merry. Sir Roger's family consists of sober 
and staid persons. He is the best master in the world. He seldom 
changes his servants. As he is beloved by all about him, his servants 
never care for leaving him. His domestics are all in years and grown 
old with their master. You see the goodness of the master even in 
the old house-dog. Sir Roger's humanity and good nature engages 
everybody to him. The butler is a very prifdent man. The chaplain 
is a very venerable man, of good sense and some learning, of a very 
regular life and obliging conversation. He heartily loves Sir Roger. 
He is a clergyman rather of plain sense than much learning, of good 
aspect, a clear voice, and a sociable temper. Sir Roger has settled 
upon him a good annuity for life. The Chaplain regularly delivers 
sermons from the great masters and preaches doctrines of practical 
divinity. — Addison. 



150 



VI. . Will Wimble: 

Will sends Sir Roger a fish, and a letter telling of his coming visit. 
Will was bred to no business and born to no estate. He lives with his 
elder brother as superintendent of his game. He is well versed in all 
the handicrafts of an idle man; furnishes the whole country with 
angle-rods ; a good-natured, officious fellow ; a welcome guest at every 
house; the darling of the country. Talks of puppies,, garters, cock- 
pheasants, and trifles. His humanity is of little benefit to others, and 
his industry of little advantage to himself. His parents gave him up 
to his own inventions. — Addison. 

VII. The Coverley Household, or Sir Roger and His Servants : 

The servants industriously place themselves in Sir Roger's way. 
They respect and love him. A certain cheerfulness marks the perform- 
ance of their duty. His orders are received as favors, rather than 
duties. Sir Roger knows that economy is the principal virtue of this 
life. As fast as he is able, Sir Roger puts his servants into independ- 
ent livelihoods, so that the greatest part of Sir Roger's estate is ten- 
anted by persons who have served him or his ancestors. The Knight's 
kindness extends to his servant's children. A painting illustrates the 
rescue of Sir Roger from drowning by one of his servants. — Steele. 

VIII. A Country Sunday: 

Keeping holy the seventh day would be the best method for the 
polishing and civilizing of mankind. The whole village meet together 
with their best faces, and in their cleanest habits, to converse with one 
another upon indifferent subjects, hear their duties explained to them, 
and join together in the adoration of the Supreme Being. Sunday 
clears away the rust of the whole week, for it refreshes in the minds 
of the people the notions of religion and peace. Sir Roger gave 
every member of his congregation a hassock and a Common Prayer 
Book, employed an itinerant singing-master, who goes about to in- 
struct them in the tunes of the Psalms. As Sir Roger is landlord to 
the whole congregation, he keeps them in very good order, and will 
suffer nobody to sleep in it beside himself. He visually lengthens out 
a verse in the singing Psalms half a minute after the rest of the con- 
gregation have done with it. He pronounces "Amen" three or four 
times to the same prayer and sometimes stands up when everybody 
else is on his knees to count the congregation, or see if any of his 
tenants are missing. The general good sense and worthiness of his 
character make his friends observe these little singularities good- 
naturedly. As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes to 
stir until Sir Roger is gone out of the church. The pastor of the 
church has never had any differences and contentions with the squire, 
for which feuds the next village is famous. 

IX. Sir Roger in Love : 

Sir Roger was disappointed in love by the perverse widow upon 
whom he has frequently reflected. "She has the finest hand in the 
world," was the Knight's customary tribute to the severe lady. "I 
have been fool enough to carve her name on the bark of several of 
these trees. So unhappy is the condition of men in love to attempt the 
removing of their passion by the methods which serve only to im- 
print it deeper. When I first came to the hall where the judges met 



151 



at the assizes, a beautiful creature in a widow's garments sat in 
court, to hear the event of a cause concerning her dower. Later she 
cast her bewitching eye upon me. I no sooner met it but I bowed like 
a surprised booby. Not only I but the whole court was prejudiced in 
her favor. This perversa woman is one of those unaccountable crea- 
tures that secretly rejoice in the admiration of men, but indulge 
themselves in no further consequences. She's a reading lady, and far 
gone in the pleasures of friendship. However, I must needs say this 
accomplished mistress of mine has distinguished me above the rest, 
and has been known to declare Sir Roger de Coverley was the tamest 
and most human of all brutes in the country. The particular skill 
of this lady has ever been to inflame your wishes and yet command 
respect. She placed herself to be first seen by me in such an attitude, 
as I think you call the posture of a picture. Then she began a dis- 
course to me concerning love and honor. Her confidante sat by her. 
They both kept their countenances, and after I had sat half an hour 
meditating how to behave before such profound casuists, I rose up 
and took my leave. She is inimitable to all women as she is inacces- 
sible to all men." 

X. Sir Roger's Labors and Trophies: 

Body labor is of two kinds : either that which a man submits 
for his livelihood, or that which he undergoes for his pleasure (exer- 
cise). A country life abounds in both these kinds of labor, and for that 
reason gives a man a greater stock of health, and consequently a 
more perfect enjoyment of himself, than any other way of life. I 
consider the body a bundle of pipes and strainers, fitted to one another 
after so wonderful a manner as to make a proper machine for the 
soul to work with. There must be frequent motions and agitations 
(bodily exercise), to mix, digest, and separate the juices contained in 
it, as well as to clear and cleanse that infinitude of pipes and strainers 
of which it is composed, and to give their solid parts a more firm and 
lasting tone. Exercise keeps the understanding clear, the imagination 
untroubled, and refines the spirits necessary for the proper exertion of 
our intellectual faculties. Providence furnished materials but expects 
that we should work them up ourselves. Those who are not obliged 
to labor are more miserable than the rest of mankind unless they 
indulge in that voluntary labor which goes by the name of exercise. 
Hunting trophies in Sir Roger's hall ; horns of deer, otter's skin, stuf- 
fed with hay, a kind of arsenal filled with guns ; noses that belonged 
to foxes, and stuffed birds and animals. Dumb-bell exercise and 
shadow-boxing are strongly advised by the Spectator to open the chest, 
exercise the limbs and evaporate the spleen. 
XL Sir Roger Goes a-Hunting: 

Sir Roger has in his youth gone through the whole course of 
those rural diversions which the country abounds in ; he has taken 
forty coveys of partridges in a season, and tired many a salmon with 
a line consisting of a single hair. His remarkable enmity towards 
foxes has destroyed more of them than the whole country could have 
produced. His hunting.. horses were the finest and best managed in 
all these parts. What his pack of stop-hounds want in speed he en- 
deavors to make amends for by the deepness of their mouths and the 



158 



variety of their notes, which are suited in such manner to each other 
that the whole cry makes up a complete concert. After hours of 
chasing and riding and shouting the little nighty hare is cornered. 
The dogs pursued her and these were followed by the jolly Knight, 
who rode upon a white gelding, encompassed by his tenants and ser- 
vants, and cheering his hounds with all the gaiety of five-and-twenty. 
The brightness of the weather, the cheerfulness of everything around, 
the chiding of the hounds, with the halloing of the sportsmen, and 
the sounding of the horn, lifted my spirits into a most lively pleasure. 
The pesky creature cornered, Sir Roger rode forward, and, alighting, 
took up the hare in his arms, which he soon delivered to one of his 
servants with an order, to let her go in his great orchard where sev- 
eral live together in a very comfortable captivity. The Knight could 
not find it in his heart to murder a creature that had given him so 
much diversion. "What," says Pascal, "unless it be to drown thought, 
can make men throw away so much time and pains upon a silly ani- 
mal, which they might buy cheaper in the market?" However, hunt- 
ing is the best kind of physic for mending a bad constitution and 
preserving a good one. 

XII. The Coverley Witch: 

I cannot forbear thinking that there is such an intercourse and 
commerce with evil spirits as that which we express by the name of 
witchcraft ; the case of Moll White is an example. If she chance to 
stumble, they always found sticks or straws that lay in the figure of a 
cross before her. If she made any mistake at church, and cried 
"Amen" in a wrong place, they never failed to_ conclude that she was 
saying her prayers backward. There was not a maid in the parish 
that would take a pin of her though she would offer a bag of money 
with it. If the dairymaid does not make her butter come so soon 
as she should have it, Moll White is at the bottom of the churn; if a 
horse sweats in the stable Moll White has been upon his back. Her 
broomstaff and her tabby cat lay under as bad a report as Moll White 
herself. The cat is reported to have spoken twice or thrice in her 
life. Sir Roger, who was a little puzzled about the old woman, ad- 
vised her, as a justice of the peace to avoid all communication with 
the devil, and never to hurt any of her neighbor's cattle. The Knight 
told me that old Moll had been often brought before him for making 
children spit pins, and giving maids the nightmare. When an old 
woman begins to dote, and grow chargeable to a parish, she is gener- 
ally turned into a witch and fills the whole country with extravagant 
fancies, imaginery distemper, and terrifying dreams. This frequently 
cuts off charity from the greatest objects of compassion. — Addison. 

XIII. A Perverse Woman, or Love-Making at Coverley: 

This woman, according to the Knight, is of all others the most 
unintelligible; she either designs to marry, or she -does not. Her 
superior merit is such that I cannot approach her without awe, that 
my heart is checked by too much esteem; I am angry that her charms 
are not more accessible, that I am more inclined to worship than salute 
her; how often have I wished her unhappy that I might have an 
opportunity of saving her? I have led a miserable life in secret upon 
her account. Of all persons under the sun, be sure to set a mark 



153 



upon confidantes (intimate female friends) ; they assume to them- 
selves the merit of the persons whom they have in their custody. Very 
many of our unmarried women of distinction are directly under the 
conduct of their whisperers. They are impertinent, watchful animals. 
Sir Roger and the Spectator overhear Mr. Williams' proposal to 
Betty. The huntsman tenderly confesses his most passionate love to 
the honest maid. Sir Roger adds that he will interpose in this matter 
and hasten the wedding, that Kate Willow, the witty, mischievous 
wench of the neighborhood, and popular confidante must not step in 
between these lovers. Sir Roger attributes his comical familiarities 
of speech or odd phrases to the perverse woman. She looks so inno- 
cent ; but take my word for it, she is no fool. — Steele. 

XIV. Good Breeding in the Country: 

By manners I do not mean morals, but behavior and good breed- 
ing as they show themselves in the town and in the country. Con- 
versation was so encumbered with show and ceremony that it stood 
in need of a reformation to retrench its superfluities, and restore it to 
its natural good sense and beauty. At present, therefore, an uncon- 
strained carriage, and a certain openness and behavior, are the height 
of good breeding. The fashionable world is grown free and easy ; our 
manners sit more loose upon us. Nothing is so modish as an agree- 
able negligence. Good breeding shows itself most where, to an ordin- 
ary eye, it appears the least. The country people possess the manners 
of the last age. A polite country squire shall make you as many bows 
in half an hour as would serve a courtier for a week. I have known 
my friend Sir Roger's dinner almost cold before the company could 
adjust the ceremonial, and be prevailed upon to sit down according 
to their respective ranks and qualities. Will Wimble was painfully 
ceremonious and fastidiously polite. Several of our townsmen, pol- 
ished in France, make use of the most coarse, uncivilized words in 
our language and utter themselves often in such a manner as a clown 
would blush to hear. If the country gentleman should imitate these, 
they will be thought a parcel of lewd clowns, while they fancy them- 
selves talking together like men of wit and pleasure. The rural beaus 
ride about the country in red coats and laced hats, while the women 
in many parts are still trying to outvie one another in the height of 
their head-dress. — Addison. 

XV. Sir Roger on the Bench : 

A man's first care should be to avoid the reproaches of his own 
heart ; his next, to escape the censures of the world. My worthy friend 
Sir Roger is one of those who is not only at peace with himself but 
beloved and esteemed by all about him. Tom Touchy, a fellow fa- 
mous for taking the law of everybody, was a rogue who had once the 
impudence to go to law with the widow. His head is full of costs, dam- 
ages, and ejectments. On hearing a case Sir Roger would often say 
with an air of a man who would not give his judgment rashly, that 
much might be said on both sides. Notwithstanding the fact that all 
the justices had already taken their places on the bench, they would 
make room for the old Knight at the head of them. When Sir Roger 
would speak, I was in some pain for him, till I found he had acquitted 
himself of two or three sentences, with a look of much business and 



154 



great intrepidity, although his speech was very little to the purpose. 
Thus the Knight designed to give himself a figure in my eye, and 
to keep up his credit in the country. One of the Knight's former ser- 
vants had put Sir Roger's head on a sign post before the door of the 
tavern. The servant's indiscretion proceeded wholly from affection 
and good will; but the Knight told him that he had been paid too 
high a compliment and ordered the head to be brought into the room 
to be somewhat altered. — Addison. 

XVI. Sir Roger and Party Spirit: 

Political parties create mischief in the country; they spoil good 
neighborhood, and make honest gentlemen hate one another; this 
dreadful spirit rends a government into distinct peoples, and makes 
them greater strangers and more averse to one another than if they 
were actually two different nations. It sinks the virtue of a nation 
and destroys even common sense. A furious party spirit exerts itself 
into civil war and bloodshed ; under restraint it breaks out in false- 
hood, detraction, calumny, and a partial administration of justice. 
The minds of many good men among us appear so soured with party 
principles as to be inconsistent with the dictates of either reason or 
religion. Knowledge and learning suffer in a particular manner from 
those strange prejudices. Calumnies and libels are committed. Per- 
sons of the greatest probity are seduced into shameful errors and 
prejudices, and made bad men even by that noblest of principles, "the 
love of their country." We should not any longer regard our fellow 
subjects as Whigs or Tories, but should make the man of merit our 
friend, and the villain our enemy. — Addison. 

XVII. Gypsies : 

Gypsies are said to steal people's goods and spoil their servants. 
If a man prosecutes them with severity, his hen-roost is sure to pay 
for it. You see some handsome young jades among them ; the sluts 
have very often white teeth and black eyes. Once, a fortune-teller 
examined the wrinkles in the palm of my hancT very diligently and told 
me I loved a pretty maid in a corner, that I was a good woman's man. 
Sir Roger was told likewise that he had a widow in his line of life ; 
upon which the Knight cried, "Go, go, you are an idle baggage," and 
at the same time smiled upon me. He left the money with her that 
he crossed her palm with, and got up again on his horse. Later he 
found his pocket had been picked, that being a kind of palmistry at 
which this race of vermin are very dexterous. This idle profligate 
people infest all countries of Europe and live in the midst of govern- 
ments in a kind of commonwealth by themselves. The story of the 
stolen boy who was raised by the gypsies, and who later became a 
public minister, skilled in languages and sharp of understanding, 
illustrates the possible value of gypsy life and experience. — Addison. 

XVIII. A Summons to London : 

My greatest difficulty in the country is to find sport, and, in town, 
to choose it. I find the whole neighborhood begin to grow very in- 
quisitive after my name and character. My love of solitude, taciturnity, 
and particular way of life, have made some look upon me as very 
proud, some as very modest and some as very melancholy. Will 

155 



Wimble is afraid I have killed a man. The country people suspect me 
for a conjurer, a "White Witch." I pass among some for a disaffected 
person and, among others for a popish priest; among some for a 
wizard, and among others for a murderer ; all because I do not hoot 
and hollow and make a noise. Sir Roger tells them that it is my way 
and that I am only a philosopher ; but this will not satisfy them. The 
country is not a place for a person of my temper, who does not love 
jollity, and v/hat they call good neighborhood. I shall, therefore, re- 
tire into the town and get into the crowd again as fast as I can, in 
order to be alone and enjoy all the advantages of company with all 
the privileges of solitude. Will Honeycombe's letter casts reflections 
of rusticity, bewitchery and maid-loving upon the Spectator, who 
is urged to come back to the club. — Addison. 

XIX. A Journey to London : 

In the stage-coach were an heiress and her mother, a recruiting 
officer, a young squire, and a Quaker; besides there was a gentleman 
that had studied himself dumb from Sir Roger de Coverley's (the Spec- 
tator). The captain's attendant made much ado in the preparations 
for his master's comfort. At first we sat with that dislike which peo- 
ple not too good-natured usually conceive for each other at first sieht. 
The coach jumbled us insensibly into some sort of familiarity. The 
recruiting officer boastfully and impudently offers himself at the dis- 
posal of the young heiress. At this the Spectator had nothing left but 
to fall fast asleep, which he apparently did with all speed. Ephraim, 
the Quaker and guardian, intervenes and compares the* captain to a 
drum — it soundeth because it is emptv. Whereat the officer realizes 
his impertinence, and begs pardon. Ephraim declares that a person's 
character and mind are best expressed by his behavior upon meeting 
with strangers, that modes and apparel are but trifles to the real man. 
— Steele. 

XX. Sir Roger in London: 

Sir Roger came to get a sight of Prince Eugene (a celebrated 
Austrain general who distinguished himself during the war of the 
Spanish succession, 1701-1714). He was soon engaged in conversa- 
tion with a beggar-man that had asked alms of him. I could hear 
the Knight chide him for not finding out some work; but at the same 
time saw him put his hand in his pocket and give him sixpence. Will 
Wimble presented me through Sir Roger with a tobacco stopper. The 
Knight told me that Tom Touchy had taken the law of Will for cut- 
ting some hazel sticks out of one of his hedges ; that Moll White was 
dead; and that a wind had blown down the end of one of his barns. 
Sir Roger loves to rejoice the hearts of his neighbors and see the 
whole village merry in his great hall at Christmas. Sir Roger then 
praised the Act of Parliament for securing the Church of England. 
He then asked me with a kind of smile whether Sir Andrew Freeport 
had not taken advantage of his absence to vest among them some of 
his republican doctrines. He dwelt very long on the praises of Prince 
Eugene. As I love the old man I take delight in complying with 
everything that is agreeable to him and accordingly waited on him to 
the coffee-house, where his venerable figure drew upon us the eyes of 



156 



the whole room. His air of cheerfulness and good humor made all the 
boys in the coffee-room his friends. — Addison. 

XXI. Sir Roger in Westminster Abbey: 

Sir Roger was very careful in choosing a hackney-coach ; he al- 
ways preferred an elderly man for a driver. In the Abbey the Knight- 
pointed at the trophies upon one of the new monuments, and cried 
out, "A brave man, I warrant him !" He was well pleased to see the 
Statesman Cecil upon his knees, and concluded them all to be great 
men. We were then conveyed to the two coronation chairs where 
my old friend, after having heard that the stone of Scone, underneath 
the more ancient of them, which was brought from Scotland, was 
called Jacob's Pillar, sat himself down in the chair, and, looking like 
the figure of an old Gothic king, asked our guide what authority they 
had to say that Jacob had ever been in Scotland. Sir Roger then laid 
his hand upon Edward Third's sword. Sir Richard Baker's "Chronicle" 
was the Knight's chief authority. Sir Roger acquainted us that he 
was the first who touched for the evil ("King's evil," or scrofula, 
was supposed to be curable by a king's touch). The Knight had an 
honest passion for the glory of his country and a respectful gratitude 
to the memory of its princes. — Addison. 

XXII. Sir Roger at the Play: 

As soon as the house was full and the candles lighted my old 
friend stood up and looked about him with that pleasure which a 
mind seasoned with humanity naturally feels- in itself at the sight of 
a multitude of people who seem pleased with one another and partake 
of the same common entertainment. During the performance of "The 
Distressed Mother," a tragedy in English adapted from Racine's 
"Andromaque," Sir Roger was reminded of the widow. He whispered 
in my ear, "These widows, sir, are the most perverse creatures of the 
world." Upon Hermoine's going off with a menace to Pyrrhus, the 
audience gave a loud clap to which Sir Roger added, "On my word, a 
notable young baggage !" At the conclusion of the play, my worthy 
friend told me that it was such a bloody piece of work that he was 
glad that most of it was not done upon the stage. — Addison. 

XXIII. Sir Roger's Advice from Will Honeycomb : 

Will Honeycomb relates his disappointments in love : because 
he formerly boarded with a surgeon, one father forbids him his house 
and denies his addresses to his daughter. On another occasion Will 
is rebuffed by a mercenary widow. Again, he courts an only daughter 
and makes great headway only to hear later that Miss Jenny had 
eloped with the butler. A second widow soon enslaved Will's heart, 
only to turn him down as "a gentleman with a spindle pair of legs." 
Afterwards he laid siege to four heiresses, successively, but could never 
in his life get the old people on his side. Honeycomb could give Sir 
Roger an account of a thousand other unsuccessful attempts, — all of 
which illustrate the "innumerable disturbances on earth through 
female snares." — Budgell. 

XXIV. Sir Roger at Vauxhall, or Spring Gardens : 

This was a summer resort on the Thames River, which is now 
built over. "If I was a lord or a bishop," said Sir Roger, "and kept 



157 



a barge I would not put a fellow in my livery that had not a wooden 
leg." Sir Roger obliged the waterman to give us the history of his 
right leg, and hearing that he had lost it at La Hogue declared, "that 
one Englishman could beat three Frenchmen." To my friend, London 
Bridge was a greater piece of work than any of the seven wonders 
of the world. Sir Roger had a habit of saluting everybody that passed 
by him with a good-morrow or a good-night, which in the city, are 
not always recived or returned in the same spirit. The fragrancy 
of the walks and bowers and the choirs of birds that sang upon the 
trees, called forth expressions of delight. "Ah, my Spectator!" burst 
forth the Knight, "the many moonlight nights that I have walked by 
myself and thought of the widow, by the music of the nightingales !" 
A lady in a mask unceremoniously tapped Sir Roger upon the shoulder 
and invited him to a bottle of mead with her. This unexpected fa- 
miliarity displeased the old man who told her she was a wanton bag- 
gage and bid her go about her business. We concluded our walk 
with a glass of Burton ale and a slice of hung beef. The Knight called 
a waiter to him, and bid him carry the remainder to the water man 
that had but one leg. — Addison. 
XXV. Sir Roger's Death : 

We last night received a piece of ill news at our club which very 
sensibly afflicted every one of us. Sir Roger caught a cold at the 
county sessions, as he was very warmly promoting an address of his 
own penning, in which he succeeded according to his own wishes. The 
letter from Edward Biscuit, Sir Roger's faithful servant, gives all the 
details of the Knight's decease and last wishes. His poor servants 
loved him better than they did their own lives ; the good master was 
always the poor man's friend ; the first complaint he made was that 
he had lost his roast beef stomach, not being able to touch a sirloin 
which was served up according to custom ; the Widow had sent him, 
just before he passed away, a consoling message. He bequeathed to 
this lady, as a token of his love^ a great pearl necklace. It was a most 
moving sight to see him take leave of his poor servants, commending 
them all for their fidelity, while they were not able to speak a word 
for weeping. The Knight was buried according to his own directions, 
among the family of the Coverley's, on the left of his father, Sir 
Arthur. It would have gone to your heart to have -heard the moans 
of the old house-dog, on the day of Sir Roger's death. Sir Andrew 
Freeport received a book from the late Knight which was found to be 
a collection of Acts of Parliament. At the sight of the old man's 
handwriting, Sir Andrew burst into tears. Captain Sentry, Sir Roger's 
heir and successor to the De Coverley Estate, promised to follow in the 
footsteps of his worthy predecessor. — Addison. 



KING HENRY THE FIFTH (1600) 

Dramatist : 

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

(See "As You Like It" for the poet's life, period, etc.) 



158 



Sources : 

Raphael Hollinshed's "Chronicles of England, Scotland, and 
Ireland." "The Famous Victories of Henry V." — an old play 
of 1598. 
Criticism : 

"Its interest seems to be more largely epic than dramatic. It 
appeals to the national spirit of the English, to the love of con- 
quest. It lacks characterization, the conflict, the interplay of 
motives that give quality to the famous tragedies of the next 
period." "Loose in structure; it has no other unity than the 
presence of the young king. It is a mere drum-and-trumpet his- 
tory, with alarums and cannon-shots, sieges and battles, the de- 
fiance of heralds, and the marching of armies." 
Style: v 

Marlowesque. It has a kind of fiery vigor that gives dignity 
and splendor to the verse, even when the thought does not soar 
very high. Elizabethan in conception — large, serene, and some- 
times very beautiful. Rush and impetuous force ; picturesque. 

The Plot: 

Act I. 

Prologue : The Chorus wishes for a poetical power that would 
supplement the slender resources of the theatre, and force the audi- 
ence to believe itself in the midst of the great scenes of war and royal 
pomp imagined by the poet himself. This appeal to the imagination, it 
must be remembered, is particularly based on the absence of any 
scenery in the Elizabethan theatre. It was the poetry, therefore, that 
received the undivided attention of Shakespeare's audience. Contrast 
this with the advance and progress made in theatrical mechanics of the 
twentieth century, and the part scenery plays in our theatres of to-day. 

Scene I. — London. An antechamber in the King's palace. 

The Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Ely discuss the 
King's intention of taking over the temporal possessions of the church. 
They find comfort, however, in the King's true love for the Church. 
They praise him for his consideration, reasoning, weighty discourse, 
and miraculous reformation from a vice-indulging ne'er-do-well to an 
esteemed monarch. This change convinces them that their case will 
receive deserving attention and treatment. 

Scene II. — The same. The presence chamber. 

The Archbishop of Canterbury explains the validity of the King's 
claim to the throne of France. The Salique Law (See Notes) he holds, 
did not and does not apply to the realm of France. He cites cases to 
support his contention, and finally urges Henry to "unwind your 
bloody flag!" Scotland's most probable faithlessness and treachery 
during this period of the nation's crisis, are scornfully and- derisively 
thrown aside. French ambassadors arrive to warn Henry to desist 
from his "extravagant" plans to invade France. They present him in 
the name of the Dauphin with a ton of tennis balls as a sign of the 
latter's scorn and opinion of Henry. This incident adds fuel to the 
fire, and gives a very human motive for the King's anger against 



150 



France. Thereafter, the two dramatic contestants become Henry V. 
and the Dauphin. Henry vows to reciprocate the Dauphin's jest with 
a "gunstone" for every tennis-ball received. The ambassadors are dis- 
missed, and war is declared. 

Act II. 

Prologue : The Chorus announces the mobilization of the Eng- 
lish forces, and gives the particular details as to the treason of Cam- 
bridge, Scroop, and Gray. We are transported to Southampton from 
where the English navy is about to embark for France. 

Scene I. — London. A street. 

Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, and the Hostess are characters carried 
forward, by Shakespeare, from previous plays. They belong to the 
roystering group that surround Sir John Falstaff, with whom Henry, 
then Prince of Wales, is described as being on terms of great and in- 
timate friendship in the second part of "Henry IV." The Elizabethan 
auditors liked the grotesque mingling of elements, the mingling of 
clowns and kings, particularly in low-comedy scenes. Though his 
wife was hostess of the tavern, Pistol, in bombastic and high-falutin 
conversation, objects to being called "host." He receives Nym's bit of 
Latin as an insult as applied to himself. The two braggarts carp at 
each other in vile terms of abuse. After much slandering and bicker- 
ing, Pistol finally promises to pay Nym the sum of eight shillings due 
the latter. Falstaff's serious illness is announced. This mention of 
Falstaff helps to unite the plays in which this excellent character ap- 
pears. 

Scene II. — Southampton. A council-chamber. 

The three traitors, Gray, Cambridge, and Scroop, pretend faith- 
fulness and innocence to the King. By letting them pass sentence on 
an imaginary culprit characterized in terms actually befitting them- 
selves, Henry cunningly traps the conspirators, who are immediately 
sentenced to die. 

Scene III. — London. Before a tavern. 

The Hostess garrulously describes the pitiful death of Sir John 
Falstaff. Pistol bids his wife farewell as he departs with his King, 
for the battlefields of France. 

Scene IV. — France. The King's palace. 

The antagonists of Henry enter. The Dauphin Louis — the drama- 
tic adversary of Henry — is over-confident of success. He dispises the 
power of the English, and calls Henry "a vain, giddy, shallow, humor- 
ous youth." The French King and the Constable check the braggart 
spirit of the Dauphin, and warn him to expect the worst. The Duke of 
Exeter, as special ambassador from Henry, arrives, and delivers his 
sovereign's will : that the French throne be resigned to the English 
King; that the only alternative to that would be the unchaining of 
"hungry war," and that Henry had nothing but "scorn and defiance, 
slight regard and contempt" for the Dauphin. Charles VI. — The 
French King — postpones his reply to the following day. 

Act III. 

Prologue : The Chorus exhorts the auditors to fill up, imagina- 
tively, the pitiful poverty of mechanical appliances in the theatre. 



160 



We gather from its appeal that Henry has already sailed with his 
"brave fleet" for Harfleur, where the young King is to be offered the 
Princess Katherine for his bride. 

Scene I. — France. Before Harfleur. 

Henry addresses his army and begs each and every soldier to 
"stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood" for the glory of "Henry, 
England, and Saint George !" This scene stirs us up with patriotic 
fervor for military success. 

Scene II. — The same. 

The "comic" characters of different nationalities meet on the bat- 
tlefield. Fluellen spurs Nym, Bardolph, and Pistol "up to the breach." 
The Boy characterizes the latter three as white-livered, boastful, and 
cowardly; and altogether, as, as a troupe of filchers and pickpurses. 
He therefore determines to leave their service. Fluellen is desirous 
of discoursing on the "disciplines of the war"; but the entrance of the 
Irishman, Macmorris, who is adverse to disputation at this time, cuts 
the argument short. 

Scene III. — The same. Before the gates. 

Henry announces to the Governor and citizens of Harfleur, that, 
unless they immediately surrender and open the gates to the English, 
the town would be razed to the ground in ashes. The Governor yields 
to the resounding demand, and admits the English forces. 

Scene IV. — The French King's palace. 

We are presented to Princess Katherine, who is more than half 
interested, already, in the conqueror of her country, and her future hus- 
band. There is a touch of feminine charm in her desire to learn his 
language. She apparently has little doubt that her maid, Alice, 
could teach her the English tongue. The touch of girlish curiosity 
throughout the scene is distinctly charming. Katherine learns the 
English names for the parts of a hand. 

Scene V. — The same. 

The French have gradually increased their respect and fear for 
the formerly dispised "Norman bastards." The Dauphin, the Cons- 
table, as well as the French King, himself, express indignant sur- 
prise and disgust. But they still defy Henry and his victorious army. 

Scene VI. — The English camp in Picardy. 

Fluellen commends the Duke of Exeter and Pistol for their "ex- 
cellent discipline" in holding the bridge. Pistol begs Fluellen to use 
his good graces with the Duke of Exeter, in appealing to the latter to 
pardon Bardolph for stealing a pax (a small image of Christ fixed to 
a tablet of metal, carried around at certain services, to be kissed in 
token of goodwill and peace). Fluellen refuses to appeal, arguine in 
favor of discipline at all sacrifices. Oflfrcer Gower runs Pistol down 
in words of rebuke. Henry supports the execution of offenders like 
Bardolph. The French ambassador, Montjoy, delivers his master's 
unfailing confidence in victory, and his lord's double defiance. To 
which Henrv replies that, though his men are worn out and exhausted, 
they will fight to the end. 

Scene VII. — The French camp, near Agincourt. 

In their impatience for the coming of morning and the subsequent 
great battle, the French lords indulge in high praise for their respective 
steeds. They rate the Dauphin at a low value. 

Act IV. 

Prologue ; The Chorus describes the picture of Night on the 
battlefield, with both armies eager for the dawn and anxious to begin 



1«1 



the fray. The notes of preparation, the answering fires, the leaders' 
encouraging their armies, etc., furnish one of the finest bits of poetry 
in the play. 

Scene I. — The English camp at Agincourt. 

Henry philosophizes on the danger of the time. Pistol fails to 
recognize the King, speaks him well, and then defies him as a friend 
of Fluellen. Henry overhears Fluellen as the latter comments on the 
"ancient prerogatives and laws of wars." Henry passes among his 
soldiers "incognito," tells some that the King is no better a man than 
any one of them, listens to cowardly expressions of John Bates and 
Michael Williams, argues on the point that "the King is not bound to 
answer the particular endings of his soldiers when they purpose their 
services," and concludes with the belief that "Every subject's duty 
is the King's; but every subject's soul is his own." Finally Henry 
challenges Williams on the point that the King would not be ransomed 
if captured by the enemy. They exchange gloves to await conclusions. 
Henry moralizes on "ceremony" as the dividing line between kings 
and commoners. He envies the lot of the simple peasant. The King- 
prays for victory. 

Scene II. — The French camp. 

With over-confident bravado the French Constable urges his men 
to mount their steeds and crush the English. Their boastfulness makes 
them under-estimate their enemy. 

Scene III. — The English camp. 

With overwhelming odds against them, Henry steels and inspires 
his men with indominatable courage. He speaks of the glory to be 
won, and fills the hearts of his soldiers with the "do and die" spirit. 
The French ambassador, Montjoy, arrives, and boldly demands from 
Henry a confession of defeat and a desire for ransom. Montjoy is 
dismissed by the King with "they shall have none (ransom), I swear, 
but these joints." 

Scene 'I V.— The field of battle. 

Pistol captures a soldier, plays on his words, frightens the poor 
fellow with his bombastic outbursts and threats, and finally accepts 
the captive's promise to pay two hundred crowns for his life. 

Scene V. — Another part of the field. 

The French forces have been thrown into confusion, and sustain a 
terrible and shameful defeat. 

Scene VI. — Another part of the field. 

With victory at hand, Henry hears of the valient deeds and deaths 
of the Duke of York and the Earl of Suffolk. 
Scene VII. — Another part of the field. 

Fluellen compares King Henry with "Alexander the Pig" and the 
Battle of Monmouth with that of Macedon. Montjoy, now crestfallen 
and humbled, pleads for a truce. Henry names the battle after the 
field of Agincourt. Fluellen glories in his and the King's Welsh an- 
cestry. Henry has Fluellen wear William's glove, thus transferring 
the challenge from his own shoulders to those of the valiant Welsh- 
man. Of course, Williams is still unaware of the person (Henry) 
whom he challenged, while Fluellen is given to understand that the 
glove is owned by a mortal enemy of the King. Scenting mischief, 
Henry asks the Lord of Warwick to follow at the heels of the choleric 
Fluellen. 

Scene VIII. — Before King Henry's pavilion. 

Williams beholds Fluellen wearing the glove he had given to the 



162 



unknown person. The former takes the Welshman to be the one 
who received it. He therefore challenges and strikes Fluellen. The 
latter, having been given the glove by Henry, the actual recipient of 
the token, had been instructed to regard an enemy to the glove as an 
enemy to the King. 'Henry intercepts, and reveals to the awed Wil- 
liams the true facts in the case — an instance of Henry's erstwhile prac- 
tical jokes. An English Herald announces the number of English slain, 
and the names of the most illustrious. Henry thanks God for the 
victory. 

Act V. 

Prologue : The Chorus carries the auditors back with Henry's 
victorious legions to England, and returns the King to France to woo 
the Princess Katherine. 

Scene I. — France. The English camp. 

Fluellen beats Pistol for having insulted the leek — the emblem of 
Wales — and makes him (Pistol) eat it to the accompaniment of blows. 
Scene II. — France, A royal palace. 

The English and the French Kings and their respective nobles 
greet each other. The Duke of Burgundy welcomes the blessings of 
Peace and decries the horrors of war. Henry appoints some of his 
lords as a council to receive the French reply to his specifications for 
Peace. Henry then presses his love-suit for Katherine. In long 
speeches, most of which the French Princess fails to understand, not- 
withstanding the presence of Alice, as interpreter, Henry opens his 
heart to the maiden. His gushing sentiments and ingenious arguments 
finally break through Katherine's backwardness, and the couple bind 
their love with kisses. The French King signs Henry's articles of 
peace and consents to his daughter's marriage to Henry. The play 
thus ends happily. 

Characterization: 

King Henry V. : "He was the kind of king that the English liked 
— brave, gay and unassuming; and they liked him none the 
less for the wildness of his youth. — As a Prince, Henry was a 
reckless roisterer, almost a rogue and a vagabond. But as King, 
he stands forth a true man, a congenial monarch, and a fine com- 
panion. He is brave, full of good humor, pious, prayerful, equally 
ready to fight the French king or to court the French princess." — 
"Open, frank, honest with himself and with his friends and 
enemies ; he displays a courage, a fortitude, and, withal, a piety, 
a desire to please God and to give Him praise and glory for His 
assistance, that mark him as one of the most modest and manly 
of conquerors. This bluff, yet kindly manliness is the key-note to 
his character. He is one of his own army, as it were, encouraging 
and exhorting the faltering. . . He is a fine type of the athletic 
hero and the devout warrior." 

Fluellen : A choleric Welshman, brave, obstreperous, fiery, loyal. 

Nym : Bombastic, terrifying. 

Boy : Keen powers of observation and a quiet humor. 
Katherine : Charming and naive. 

Williams : Sturdy, manly simplicity, typically English, frank, engag- 
ing. 

Pistol : Braggart, boastful coward, bombastic. 



168 



Notes. 

The Elizabethan Theatre: 

The theatre was a rude structure built on the lines of 
an inn-yard, probably with only the .stage or platform 
roofed over. On the ground — a place corresponding to the 
later English pit — stood the "groundlings," a miscellaneous, 
rowdy herd of dirty, ill-smelling, ill-behaved people, who. were the 
constant terror of the manager and the actors. Around the sides 
of the building ran balconies with boxes, which were occupied by 
the richer classes. There were proscenium boxes on each side 
of the house. The nobles, rival playwrights, short-hand writers, 
and the young dandies sat or sprawled on the stage, a continual 
bother to the players. There was no scenery, and the women's 
parts were assumed by boys. The stage was probably hung with 
some kind of tapestry or cloth, blue for a comedy, black for a 
tragedy; a rude sign indicated where the scene was laid. There 
was a raised platform at the back of the stage which served as a 
cave, a room, a family vault, etc. Above it, on pillars, may have 
been a balcony, or any such thing." 
The Chorus : 

The Athenian audience looked on the Chorus as a very es- 
sential part of the play. It furnished unity in the development of 
the story. It consoled, advised, and restrained the chief characters 
in the crises of their lives; it commented on the action, and sang 
of death and fate. It participated in lyric chants and stately 
dances. . . Shakespeare, on the contrary, uses the Chorus in 
this play, as he frankly admits, to eke out the inadequacy of the 
stage equipment of his time. To explain the hurried changes of 
situation, the Chorus tells before each act what has happened 
since the events portrayed in the last act, or prepares the minds 
of the auditors for what is to come. There is hardly any ad- 
herence in the romantic drama to the laws of unity in respect to 
time, place, and action. 
The Salique Law: 

The law that debarred women from succeeding to the throne 
of France. 
Historical facts: 

Edward III (1327-1377) claimed the crown of France through 
his mother Isabella, daughter of Philip IV of France, who had 
married Edward II (1307-1327) of England. But, as the Salic 
law did not recognize claims through females, Edward's claim, 
in the opinion of the French, was barred. Had this not been so, 
there were other females with stronger claims than Isabella. 
Henry V (1413-1422) was a great-grandson of Edward^ III, and 
thought that the French crown was due him as English king, 
not as direct heir to Edward III. If any descendant of Edward 
III had any right, the descendant of Lionel, Duke of Clarence, 
could have claimed it before him. 

The French King: Charles VI (1380-1422), who suffered 
from fits of insanity, was surnamed "The Well-Beloved." 

The Dauphin: Louis, the eldest son of Charles VI, later 
became King, as Charles VII (1422-1461.) He was surnamed 
"The Victorious." It was Charles VII whom Joan of Arc had 
crowned at Rheims in 1429. 



164 



JULIUS CAESAR (1600) 

Dramatist: WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

(For the poet's life and period, see "As You Like It.") 
Source: North's Translation of Plutarch's Lives. 

Name: Caesar — alive or dead — directs and controls the action of the 

play. 
Historical Period: 

Julius Caesar (100 B.C.-44B.C.) was Rome's greatest general. 
He had excited the jealousy of other ambitious Romans through 
his brilliant military successes. His great rival for political honors 
was Pompey, who, with the wealthy Crassus, had joined him for 
several years in directing Roman affairs. Their coalition, or "tri- 
umvirate," was dissolved in 55 B.C. by the death of Crassus. Pom- 
pey then went over to the aristocratic party and openly advocated 
measures to degrade and humiliate Caesar. His hostility cul- 
minated in securing the passage of an order by the Senate com- 
manding Caesar to disband his army and give up the government 
of his province by a certain day on pain of being declared a public 
enemy. This action precipitated civil war — a struggle between 
two ambitious men for the supremacy in the Roman state — for the 
republic was in its death throes, and monarchy of some sort was 
inevitable. The contest resulted in a complete victory and triumph 
for Caesar. Pompey' s forces were overthrown, and he himself was 
slain by an over-ardent would-be ally of Caesar in Egypt. From 
that time to his death Caesar was practically the head of the 
Roman government. In 45 B.C. he was made Dictator for life. He 
was invested with all the high offices of state, the title "Imperator" 
being conferred upon him and made hereditary in the family. 
Popular enthusiasm ran so high that a statue was erected to him 
in the Capitol inscribed to "Caesar the Demigod." But envy and 
suspicion accused him of being tyrannical and of intending to use 
his power for the enslavement of the Roman people. A con- 
spiracy, headeh by Cassius and Brutus, struck him down in the 
Senate House, March 15, 44 B.C. Caesar was assassinated in the 
name of Liberty, the conspirators claiming that their motive was 
a desire to restore the republic ; but their deed precipitated a peace- 
ful Rome into civil strife, and hastened the coming of the empire. 
Criticism : 

"Julius Caesar" is an historical tragedy which aims to present 
a historical age and character, in which the principal personages 
are involved in desperate circumstances or led by overwhelming 
passions. It is a political play in which Caesarism is at the core 
of the action. It has no humorous scenes or characters and no 
love interest. It contains the essential dramatic elements of con- 
trast, conflict and suspense. It deals with ambition, the noblest 
and most dramatic of passions. It is a succession of human con- 
flicts. 
The Play: 

Act I — The first act sets for th the formation of the conspiracy 
against Caesar. It develops the instigation of the plot. 

Scene I. This scene strikes the keynote of the conflict between 
plebeians and patricians. The plebeians are making holiday in honor 
of Caesar when they run counter to the two tribunes, Flavius and 



165 



Marullus, who remind them of Pompey and protest against the power 
of Caesar. The fickleness of the mob is shown in the spirit of comedy, 
the antagonism of the tribunes strikes the note of tragedy. 

Scene II. A Public Place. Caesar is warned of the Ides of March. 
He returns disappointed from the feast of the Lupercalia, and gives 
vent to his shrewd expression of dislike for the lean and hungry Cas- 
sius. Meantime, Cassius has been trying to persuade Brutus to join 
in the conspiracy. Conversation between Brutus, Cassius and Casca 
indicates further that the conspiracy is forming, and leaves us con- 
vinced that Brutus will be persuaded to take its leadership. Cassius' 
view of Caesar is dictated largely by his personal envy and hatred, 
yet his exaggeration of Caesar's ambition and power finds a response 
in Brutus's distrust of imperialism and tyranny. By constantly and 
subtly contriving to flatter Brutus, Cassius hits his mark. 

Scene III. A Street. This scene represents the prodigies fore- 
shadowing the tragedy to come, and shows the conspirators prepared 
and now ready to visit Brutus and make sure of him. Shakespeare 
symbolizes by the confusion in external nature the civil and moral dis- 
orders of the times. Cassius persuades Casca to join "an enterprise of 
honorable-dangerous consequence." 

Act II — The time of this act is the eve and morning of the Ides 
of March (March 15), and the action presents the events that 
immediately precede the assassination. It develops the 
definite formation and partial execution of the plot to kill 
Caesar. 

Scene I. The meeting of the conspirators at the house of Brutus 
and his assumption of leadership ; Brutus's interview with his devoted 
wife, Portia. 

Scene II. Caesar is disturbed by his wife's dream, but is finally 
flattered into attending the meeting of the Senate. This scene creates 
suspense at first by Caesar's refusal to go to the Capitol. 

Scene III. Artemidorus is intent on warning Caesar. 

Scene IV. Portia is distracted by her anxiety for Brutus ; a sooth- 
sayer is waiting for Caesar. This and the last scene heighten the effect 
of the impending assassination ; they hurry us on to the murder of 
Caesar. Brutus shows elevation and nobility of mind ; Caesar appears 
petty and boastful as he goes heedless to his doom. 

Act III — This act presents the assassination of Caesar, the brief 
triumph of the conspirators, and their sudden overthrow. 

Scene I. Caesar is assassinated. It is the consummation of the 
conspiracy and the climax to which the action of the play so far has 
led. Throughout this scene Caesar assumes a tone of pompous arro- 
gance. He is killed at the moment he is boasting of his superiority to 
all other mortals. Brutus has made his first great mistake in permit- 
ting Antony to live. He now makes his second mistake in permitting 
Antony to speak at Caesar's funeral. The political idealism of Brutus 
is fatally unsuited to the conditions which he now has to meet. 

Scene II. Though Caesar's body lies dead, the conspirators have 
yet to reckon with his spirit, revealed in the feeling of the mob. The 
speech of Antony which so speedily undoes the work of Brutus, is the 
turning point (climax) of the play. The sympathetic response of the 
populace to Antony's appeal shows the tide of feeling setting against 
the conspirators and initiates the "falling action." Henceforth the play 
deals with the conflict between the conspirators and Antony and Oc- 
tavius, who take the leadership in revenging Caesar. 



166 



Scene III. The rage of the people, inflamed to vengeance against 
the conspirators, is carried to a climax when the poet Cinna is mur- 
dered. The mob mistakes him for Cinna, the conspirator. The mob is 
now the chief actor in the drama. 

Act IV — This act develops the conflict bewteen Antony and Oc- 
tavius on one side and Brutus and Cassius on the other. 

Scene I. The characters of the opposition come into prominence. 
We see them dividing the threefold world among themselves and 
plotting the ruin of the conspirators. The triumvirs determine on 
bloody reprisals. 

Scenes II-III. These scenes emphasize the hoplessness of the 
conspirators' cause by bringing out the subjection of the practical 
politician, Cassius, to the idealistic philosopher, Brutus. By bringing 
out the noblest traits of Brutus, Shakespeare keeps our sympathy for 
him, despite his mistake and failure. , These scenes set forth the 
differences and the great quarrel between Brutus and Cassius. Bru- 
tus's noble character proves lacking in practical effiiciency. He is 
doomed by his own unfitness for his task, even before the ghost of 
Caesar distracts his melancholy to warn him of Philippi. The appear- 
ance of the ghost foreshadows the triumph of the spirit of Caesar. 

Act V — This act works out the catastrophe through the quick 
succession of battle scenes. It brings the action to a culmination in the 
defeat and suicides of Brutus and Cassius. The action presents a 
battle after the fashion common in Shakespeare, and necessitated by 
the conditions of the Shakespearean stage. The parading of the 
armies, the exchange of defiances, the constant sounding of alarums, 
the succession of short scenes, the final addresses of the conquerors, 
were all customary elements in the stage presentation of battle. In 
Shakespeare's theatre the action was continuous without any change 
of scene. The two armies enter, the leaders parley, the armies retire ; 
immediately alarums sound, and Brutus and Massala enter for a 
hurried conversation (Scene II) ; again there are alarums within, and 
Cassius and Titus enter in flight (Scene III) ; after Cassius's suicide 
and Brutus's eulogy, the stage is cleared for a moment, but alarums 
continue, and soldiers appear in hand to hand fight (Scene IV). As 
Antony withdraws in triumph, Brutus and his friends enter in flight 
(Scene V). Increasing alarums from within hasten Brutus's suicide; 
then the victorious army enters, and the speeches of Antony and Oc- 
tavius close the play, and the army files out, bearing off the dead. 
Characterization : 

Caesar (of history) : Magnanimous, wise, quite, gentelmanlike, virile, 
courteous, practical, just, energetic, honest, democratic, natural, 
simple, popular, undissembling. 

Caesar (in the play) : Proud, boastful, petty, spoiled by victory, am- 
bitious, pampered, haughty, superstitious, fearful, suspicious, over- 
bearing. 

Brutus : Gentle noble, with unblemished honor, strong love of liberty, 
unselfish ; does evil that good may come ot it ; sentimental theo- 
rist ; refined idealist ; a man of thought driven into action ; a good 
man who tries to right evil and makes a mess of it ; a vain man, 
of a large nobility of soul in spite of his conceit ; an impractical 
idealist ; self-centered ; takes himself too seriously ; touchiness of 
temper ; abounds in conscious rectitude ; a theorist of government ; 
massive of soul ; the noblest of his traits, his loyalty to an ideal, 
proves fatal to himself, his friends and his cause ; he is intellec- 



tually and morally honest, but he does not know men, or how to 
govern them; kindly, disinterested, forgetful of self, with an un- 
suspecting faith in men, uncomplaining endurance of misfortune ; 
lofty sincerity of his unwavering devotion to a cause. 

Cassius : A choleric man, hating Caesar more than he does tyranny 
openly; wily, practical, hot-headed, dependent, cunning, envious, 
vindictive, shrewd, unscrupulous, sensitive ; possesses intellectual 
acumen and a genuine love for his brother-in-law, Brutus. 

Antony : He can be affectionate and cruel, open-hearted and crafty, 
petty and magnanimous, as the occasion requires; not his own 
master but easily swayed by emotion or opportunity; sensual, 
impetuous temperament revealed when under the sway of a noble 
affection and an opportunity for immediate action. 

Octavius : Self-restrained, self-centered, master of his emotions, who. 
knowing his own purpose, pursues it with clear mind and unbend- 
ing will. 

Portia: A wholly devoted woman and a faithful wife, eager to sacrifice 
herself for her husband and to share in all his troubles, though 
her affections render her unable to imitate stoicism and drives 
her to anxiety and hysteria. 

The Mob : All that Brutus and Antony think or say becomes trans- 
lated into visible, tumultous, exciting stage-action ; the gestures, 
cries, and actions of the mob, as they defend or attack, emphasize 
and punctuate the eloqtience of the orators. The mob becomes the 
chief actor of the drama and the center of the battle of emotions 
and wills. 

A Contrast Between the Funeral Speeches of Brutus and Antony. 

Brutus's speech: "It is the address of a trained rhetorician; it 
is logical and chilly; it is directed to the intellect of his hearers and 
not to their emotions ; it is egotistic, not to call it pedantic ; it displays 
a complacent ignorance of the psychology of the crowd ; it shows that 
he has failed to profit by his frequent opportunities to understand the 
temper of his fellow-citizens; it is proof positive that he lacks the 
political wisdom, and that he was unfit for the part he was playing; 
he says the things he ought not to have said, and he leaves unsaid 
the things he ought to have said." 

Antony's Speech : "A model stump speech ; it is swift and fiery ; 
it appeals to imagination and passion ; it is not a mere rhetorical exer- 
cise, but a masterpiece of persuasion, aimed to accomplish a definite 
purpose; Antony has all the arts of a subtle rhetorician, including 
that of deprecating his own gifts as an orator in comparison with 
those of Brutus ; the psychology of the crowd which his predecessor 
ignored or was ignorant of, Mark Antony understands and applies; he 
is sincere in his affection for his dead friend, yet he uses that very de- 
votion as an element of persuasion; he is cunning, sinuous, resource- 
ful; and he plays on the passions of his hearers that he may at once 
avenge Caesar's death and profit by it ; surpassingly clever the speech 
is in itself, and intensely dramatic in the use to which Shakespeare 
puts it." — Matthews. 



168 



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